ifornia 
>nal 

ty 


A    MOUNTAIN  -i 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  L.  BENNETT 


XMS~ 

THE  H1STOM  OF  A  MOUNTAM 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

BY    BERTHA    NESS    AND    JOHN    LILLIE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  L.  BENNETT 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER   &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE 

1881 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1881,  by 

HARPER     &    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


All  rights  reserved. 


SRL6 
UWJ 

5144587 


CONTENTS. 


I.  THE  RETREAT 9 

II.  PEAKS  AND  VALLEYS 16 

III.  ROCKS  AND  CRYSTALS 24 

IV.  THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN 33 

V.  FOSSILS 42 

VI.  THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  PEAKS  ....        48 

VII.  LANDSLIPS 56 

VIII.  CLOUDS 63 

IX.  FOGS  AND  STORMS 69 

X.  SNOW 75 

"XL  AVALANCHES 86 

XII.  GLACIERS 94 

XIII.  MORAINES  AND  TORRENTS 102 

XIV.  FORESTS  AND  PASTURES 109 

XV.  THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN 120 

XVI.  GRADATIONS  OF  CLIMATE 127 

XVII.  THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER 137 

XVIII.  CRETINS 151 

XIX.  MOUNTAIN-WORSHIP 160 

XX.  OLYMPUS  AND  THE  GODS 171 

XXI.  GENII 179 

XXII.  MAN  .  184 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"THIS  WAS    THE    LAST    HABITATION5' 11 

"THE    GREAT    PEAK    CAN    BE    SEEN    RISING   UP  LIKE    A   PYR- 
AMID" .         . 21 

"  HOW  WERE  THEY  ABLE  TO   RAISE   THEMSELVES  UP  TO   THE 

SKIES?" 36 

"UPON    THE    ROCKY    SHORES    OF    THE    OCEAN"      ...  43 

"THE   INHABITANTS   COME  TO   CONTEMPLATE  THE  DISASTER"  58 

"  WE    SEE    THE    GIANT    APPEAR    ONCE    MORE  "    .         .         ...  68 

"THERE  is  THE  ABYSS" 83 

GLACIER  AND  CREVASSE 97 

THE  TORRENT 106 

"THE  GRACEFUL  CHAMOIS"      . 124 

" FIR-TREES,  WITH  THEIR  SOMBRE  BRANCHES"     .      .      .  129 
"AT  THE  CONTEMPLATION  OF  ALL  THIS  EXPANSE"     .       .146 

"WlTH  HIM  THE  LAD  FORMED  A  YOKE"      .       .       .       .  155 
"THEY  PERCEIVED   THE  PEAKS  SPARKLING  THROUGH  THE 

RIVEN  CLOUDS"                                                                 .  178 


ISTORY 


A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     RETREAT. 

*  I  WAS  sad,  downcast,  weary  of  my  life.  Fate  Lad 
dealt  hardly  with  me ;  it  had  robbed  me  of  all  who  were 
dear  to  me,  had  ruined  my  plans,  frustrated  all  my  hopes. 
People  whom  I  called  my  friends  had  turned  against  me 
when  they  beheld  me  assailed  by  misfortune ;  all  man- 
kind, with  its  conflicting  interests  and  its  unrestrained 
passions,  appeared  repulsive  in  my  eyes.  Cost  what  it 

1* 


10  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

might,  I  was  determined  to  run  away,  either  to  die,  or  in 
solitude  to  regain  my  vigor  and  peace  of  mind. 

Without  knowing  exactly  whither  my  steps  were  lead- 
ing me,  I  turned  towards  those  great  mountains  whose 
jagged  crests  I  beheld  breaking  the  distant  line  of  the 
horizon. 

On  I  went,  following  by  -  paths,  and  in  the  evening 
stopping  before  isolated  inns.  The  sound  of  a  human 
voice,  the  noise  of  a  footstep,  made  me  shudder ;  but 
when  I  was  walking-  alone  I  listened  with  melancholy 
pleasure  to  the  birds  singing,  the  river  murmuring, 
and  the  thousand  strains  proceeding  from  the  vast 
woods. 

Walking,  as  chance  led  me,  either  along  the  high-road 
or  footpath,  at  last  I  reached  the  first  defile  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  wide  plain,  scored  with  indentations,  stopped 
abruptly  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks  and  slopes  shaded  by 
chestnut  -  trees.  The  lofty  blue  peaks,  seen  from  afar, 
had  disappeared  behind  other  crests,  which  were  not  so 
high,  yet  nearer  to  me.  By  my  side  the  river,  which, 
lower  down,  falling  over  boulders,  extended  into  a  vast 
sheet  of  water,  flowed  rapidly  down  between  the  shining 
rocks,  clad  with  a  blackish-hued  moss.  Above  each  bank 
a  low  hill,  the  first  lesser  chain  of  the  mountains,  reared 
up  its  escarpments  and  bore  upon  its  summit  the  ruins 
of  a  large  tower,  formerly  the  warder  of  the  valley.  T 
felt  shut  in  between  two  wralls ;  I  had  quitted  the  region 
of  large  towns,  of  smoke  and  hubbub;  enemies  and  false 
friends  were  left  behind. 

It  was  the  first  time  for  very  long  that  I  had  felt  a 
sensation  of  real  gladness.  My  step  became  brisker,  my 
glance  more  confident ;  I  stood  still  that  I  might  enjoy 


"THIS   WAS    THE    LAST    HABITATION." 


THE  RETREAT.  H 

the  delight  of  inhaling  the  pure  air  coming  down  from 
the  mountain. 

There  are  no  more  stone,  dust,  or  mud  covered  high- 
roads in  this  country:  now  I  "have  left  the  low -lying 
plains ;  I  am  in  the  mountain,  which  no  hand  has  yet 
subdued !  A  foot-track  formed  by  goats  and  goatherds 
turns  aside  from  the  broader  road,  which  follows  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley,  and  ascends  obliquely  along  the  hill- 
side. This  is  the  road  which  I  take,  so  that  I  may  be 
quite  sure  .of  at  last  being  alone.  Every  step  bringing 
me  higher,  I  notice  how  the  people  walking  along  the 
path  beneath  gradually  grow  smaller  and  smaller.  The 
hamlets  and  villages  are  half  hidden  from  my  sight  by 
their  own  smoke,  a  bluish-gray  mist  which  creeps  slowly 
over  the  heights,  and  on  its  way  leaves  fragments  of  it- 
self clinging  to  the  outskirts  of  the  forest. 

Towards  evening,  after  having  made  the  circuit  of  sev- 
eral rocky  declivities,  having  passed  over  numerous  ra- 
vines, and  crossed  many  brawling  streamlets  by  jumping 
from  stone  to  stone,  I  reached  the  base  of  a  height  ris- 
ing far  above  rocks,  woods,  and  pastures.  At  the  top  a 
smoky  cabin,  and  sheep  grazing  on  the  slopes  around, 
appeared  in  sight.  This  yellowish  path  wound  upwards 
to  the  cabin  like  a  piece  of  unrolled  ribbon,  and  there 
seemed  to  stop.  Farther  on,  I  could  discern  nothing  but 
great  stony  ravines,  landslips,  waterfalls,  snow,  and  gla- 
ciers' This  was  the  last  habitation  of  man.  It  was  the 
cabin  which  for  long  months  should  serve  as  my  place 
of  refuge.  A  dog,  then  a  shepherd,  received  me  as  if 
they  were  friends. 

Henceforward,  being  free,  I  allowed  nature  slowly  to 
renew  my  life.  At  times  I  would  wander  in  the  midst 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

of  a  chaos  of  stones,  which  had  been  hurled  down  from 
a  rocky  ridge ;  at  others  I  would  walk  as  chance  led  me 
in  a  forest  of  pine-trees ;  then,  again,  I  would  climb  to 
the  upper  crests,  and  seat  myself  upon  some  peak  over- 
looking the  whole  scene ;  often  I  would  plunge  into  a 
deep,  black  ravine,  in  which  I  could  imagine  that  I  had 
fled  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

Gradually,  under  the  influence  of  time  and  nature,  the 
lugubrious  phantoms  which  haunted  my  memory  relaxed 
their  hold.  I  no  longer  walked  merely  to  escape  from 
my  recollections,  but  also  to  allow  myself  to  be  imbued 
with  the  impressions  of  all  around  me,  and  to  enjoy  them 
as  if  unconsciously. 

If  ever,  since  having  set  my  foot  upon  the  mountain, 
I  had  experienced  a  sensation  of  gladness,  it  was  owing 
to  the  fact  of  my  having  entered  into  solitude,  and  that 
rocks,  forests,  a  whole  new  world,  had  risen  up  between 
me  and  the  past ;  yet  one  fine  day  I  understood  that  a 
new  passion  had  crept  into  my  soul.  I  loved  the  moun- 
tain for  its  own  sake.  I  loved  its  superb  calm  face,  light- 
ed up  by  the  sun  while  we  were  still  left  in  gloom ;  I 
loved  its  mighty  shoulders,  laden  with  ice  full  of  blue 
reflections;  its  sides,  whereon  pastures  alternated  with 
forests  and  waste  ground ;  its  huge  roots  stretched  out 
afar  like  those  of  an  enormous  tree,  separated  by  valleys, 
with  their  respective  rivulets,  cascades,  lakes,  and  mead- 
ows; I  loved  everything  belonging  to  the  mountain, 
down  to  the  yellow  or  green  moss  growing  upon  the 
rocks,  down  to  the  stone  gleaming  in  the  midst  of  the 
turf. 

Just  in  the  same  manner  the  shepherd,  who,  as  a  rep- 
resentative of  that  humankind  from  which  I  was  escap- 


THE  RETREAT.  13 

ing,  at  first  almost  displeased  me,  had  gradually  become 
necessary  to  me ;  I  felt  my  confidence  in  and  friendship 
for  him  awaken.  I  no  longer  confined  myself  to  thank- 
ing him  for  the  food  which  he  brought  and  the  services 
which  he  rendered  me.  But  I  studied  him ;  I  tried  to 
learn  all  that  he  could  teach  me.  Very  slender  were 
his  appliances  for  instruction ;  but  when  once  the  love 
of  nature  had  taken  possession  of  me,  it  was  he  who 
taught  me  to  know  the  mountain  on  which  the  flocks 

O 

grazed  and  at  whose  base  he  was  born.  He  told  me 
the  names  of  the  plants,  showed  me  the  rocks  in  which 
crystals  and  rare  stones  were  to  be  found,  accompanied 
me  to  the  edges  of  dizzy  whirlpools  to  point  out  the  line 
I  must  pursue  where  it  was  difficult  to  cross.  From  the 
top  of  the  peaks  he  indicated  the  valleys,  traced  out  the 
course  of  the  torrents;  then,  having  returned  to  our 
smoky  cabin,  related  to  me  the  history  of  the  country 
and  its  local  legends. 

In  exchange,  I  explained  many  things  to  him  which 
he  did  not,  and  had  never  even  desired  to,  understand. 
But  his  intelligence  expanded  by  degrees;  it  became  ra- 
pacious. When  I  saw  his  eye  brighten  and  his  lips 
smile,  I  took  delight  in  repeating  to  him  the  little  that  I 
knew.  Intellect  dawned  upon  that  face,  until  lately  so 
dull  and  heavy.  From  being  as  careless  as  he  had  hith- 
erto been,  he  was  metamorphosed  into  a  man  capable  of 
reflecting  both  on  himself  and  the  objects  surrounding 
him. 

And,  while  teaching  my  companion,  I  taught  myself; 
for,  in  trying  to  explain  nature's  phenomena  to  the  shep- 
herd, I  ended  in  understanding  them  better,  and  became 
my  own  pupil. 


14  THE  HISTORY   OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

Thus  incited  by  the  double  interest  which  the  love  of 
nature  and  sympathy  with  rny  companion  imparted  to 
me,  I  endeavored  to  become  acquainted  both  with  the 
present  life  and  past  history  of  the  mountain  upon  which 
we  dwelt  like  parasites  upon  an  elephant's  hide.  I  stud- 
ied the  enormous  mass,  in  the  rocks  of  which  it  is  form- 
ed ;  in  the  irregularities  of  the  ground  which,  according 
to  the  different  points  of  view,  the  hours  and  the  seasons 
imparted  to  it — such  great  diversity  of  aspects,  so  lovely 
or  so  terrible.  I  studied  it  in  its  snow,  its  ice,  and  the 
weather  that  assailed  it ;  in  the  plants  and  animals  inhab- 
iting its  surface. 

I  also  strove  to  understand  what  influence  the  moun- 
tain had  had  upon  the  poetry  "and  history  of  nations,  the 
part  it  had  played  in  the  movements  of  the  different 
peoples  and  in  the  progress  of  all  mankind. 

That  which  I  did  learn  I  owe  to  the  co-operation  of 
my  shepherd,  and  also,  since  I  ought  to  tell  everything, 


THE  RETREAT.  J5 

to  that  of  the  creeping  insects,  of  the  butterflies  and 
birds  of  song. 

Had  I  not  spent  long  hours  "lying  on  the  grass,  watch- 
ing or  listening  to  those  tiny  beings,  my  brothers,  per- 
haps I  should  not  so  well  have  understood  how  alive  is 
also  that  vast  earth  which  bears  in  its  bosom  all  those  in- 
finitely small  creatures,  and  carries  them  away  with  us 
into  unfathomable  space. 


16  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PEAKS   AND   VALLEYS. 

•  SEEN  from  the  plain,  the  mountain  is  of  a  very  simple 
form ;  it  is  a  small,  jagged  cone,  rising,  amid  other  points 
of  unequal  height,  upon  a  blue  wall  streaked  with  pink 
and  white,  which  bounds  one  entire  side  of  the  horizon. 
It  was  as  if  I  were  looking  from  afar  at  a  monster  saw 
with  unevenly  cut  teeth ;  one  of  these  teeth  is  the  moun- 
tain upon  which  wandered  my  feet. 

Nevertheless,  the  small  cone  which  I  distinguished 
from  its  inferior  companions,  a  simple  grain  of  sand 
upon  that  grain  of  sand  which  is  the  earth,  now  appeared 
to  me  like  a  world.  From  my  hut  I  can  easily  see,  a  few 
hundred  yards  above  my  head,  a  ridge  of  rock  which 
seems  to  be  the  summit,  yet  no  sooner  do  I  climb  up  to 
it  than  another  peak  rises  up  beyond  the  snow.  I  gain 
a  second  terrace,  and  the  mountain  appears  again  to 
change  its  form.  From  every  point,  every  ravine,  every 
declivity,  the  landscape  is  displayed  under  a  fresh  as- 
pect, under  another  form.  Taken  by  itself,  the  moun- 
tain is  a  whole  group  of  mountains,  just  as  in  the  midst 
of  the  sea  each  billow  is  built  up  of  innumerable  tiny 
wavelets.  To  understand  the  architecture  of  the  whole 
mountain,  it  must  be  studied,  be  surveyed  in  every  di- 
rection ;  every  elevation  should  be  ascended,  every  gorge 


PEAKS  AND  VALLEYS.  17 

penetrated.  Like  everything  else,  it  is  inexhaustible  for 
all  who  wish  to  know  it  in  its  entirety. 

The  height  upon  which  I  best  loved  to  sit  was  not  the 
crowning  elevation  where  I  might  place  myself  like  a 
king  upon  a  throne,  thence  to  contemplate  the  kingdoms 
extended  at  his  feet.  I  felt  happier  upon  the  next  lower 
summit,  whence  my  glance  could  at  the  same  time  de- 
scend to  the  lowest  slopes,  then  rise  again,  foot  by  foot, 
towards  the  upper  walls,  and  to  the  peak  piercing  the 
azure  heavens.  There,  without  needing  to  repress  the 
sensation  of  pride  which  I  should  have  experienced  in 
spite  of  myself  upon  the  culminating  apex  of  the  moun- 
tain, I  could  enjoy  the  delight  of  feasting  my  gaze  upon 
the  beauties  presented  by  the  snow,  the  rocks,  the  for- 
ests, and  pastures.  I  hovered  half  way  up  between  the 
two  zones  of  earth  and  sky,  and  I  felt  free  without  being 
isolated.  Nowhere  else  could  a  sweeter  sensation  of 
peace  fill  my  heart. 

It  is  a  great  delight  to  attain  a  high  point,  overlooking 
a  view  of  peaks,  valleys,  and  plains.  With  what  pleas- 
ure, what  ecstasy  of  the  senses,  do  we  contemplate  in  one 
general  panorama  the  enormous  edifice  of  which  we  oc- 
cupy the  pinnacle !  Beneath,  upon  the  lower  slopes,  only 
one  portion  of  the  mountain  is  visible,  or  at  most  one 
side ;  but  from  the  summit  all  the  tops  can  be  discerned 
down  to  the  small  hills  and  headlands  of  the  base.  As 
equals  we  gaze  upon  the  encircling  mountains ;  like  them, 
our  heads  are  in  pure  air  and  light ;  we  soar  to  the  free 
sky  like  an  eagle  whose  flight  bears  him  above  the  dull 
planet.  At  our  feet,  far  below  the  peak,  we  behold  that 
which  the  multitude  beneath  term  the  sky ;  they  are 
clouds  which,  travelling  slowly  along  the  mountain's 


18  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

sides,  rend  themselves  upon  the  projecting  angles  of  the 
rocks  and  outskirts  of  the  woods,  leaving  shreds  of  fog 
here  and  there  in  the  ravines,  then,  sailing  away  over  the 
plains,  cast  their  great  shadow  upon  the  ground  in  ever- 
varying  form.  From  the  top  of  this  splendid  observa- 
tory no  rivers  can  be  seen  making  their  way  like  the 
clouds  whence  they  took  their  birth,  but  their  motion  is 
revealed  by  the  noisy  uproar  of  the  water  heard  afar  off 
from  time  to  time,  either  issuing  from  the  riven  glaciers 
or  in  the  small  lakes  and  cascades  fti  the  valley,  or  mean- 
dering gently  through  the  lower  landscape.  In  this 
scene  of  amphitheatres,  ravines,  gorges,  dales,  we  take 
part,  as  if  we  had  suddenly  become  immortal,  in  the 
great  geological  work  of  the  excavating  waters  as  they 
empty  their  basins  in  every  direction  around  the  primi- 
tive mass  of  the  mountain.  We  see  them,  so  to  say,  in- 
cessantly chiselling  the  enormous  object  so  as  to  carry 
away  the  debris  wherewith  to  level  the  plain,  to  till  up 
some  ocean  bay.  I  can  distinguish  that  bay  from  the 
summit  on  to  which  I  have  climbed ;  there  below  lies 
extended  that  great  abyss,  the  blue  ocean,  whence  the 
mountain  has  gone  forth,  and  whither,  sooner  or  later,  it 
must  return. 

As  to  man,  he  is  invisible,  but  I  imagine  him.  Like 
nests  half  hidden  in  the  branches,  I  can  discern  cottages, 
hamlets,  villages,  dispersed  in  the  valleys  and  upon  the 
sides  of  the  verdant  hills.  There  below,  beneath  the 
smoke,  under  a  layer  of  air  vitiated  by  the  breath  of  in- 
numerable persons,  something  white  indicates  a  large 
city.  The  houses,  the  palaces,  the  lofty  towers,  the  cu- 
polas, all  merge  into  one  dirty,  dingy  color,  which  might 
be  described  as  a  sort  of  mouldiness,  contrasting  with  the 


PEAKS  AND   VALLEYS.  19 

fresher  tints  of  the  surrounding  country.  Then  I  think 
sadly  of  all  the  perfidy  and  wickedness  being  enacted 
in  that  ant-hill,  of  all  the  vices  fermenting  beneath  that 
almost  invisible  pustule  ;  but,  seen  from  the  summit, 
the  immense  panorama  of  the  country  is  beautiful  as  a 
whole,  with  its  towns,  villages,  and  isolated  houses,  which 
here  and  there  brighten  the  scene  beneath  the  light  in 
which  they  are  bathed;  the  dark  spots* blend  with  all 
that  surrounds  them  in  one  harmonious  whole ;  the  at- 
mosphere sheds  its  aaure  mantle  over  the  entire  plain. 

Great  is  the  difference  between  the  true  form  of  our 
picturesque  mountain,  so  rich  in  its  various  aspects,  and 
that  which  I  ascribed  to  it  in  my  childhood  when  look- 
ing at  the  maps  which  my  tutor  made  me  study ;  I  then 
pictured  to  myself  a  perfectly  regular  isolated  mass,  slop- 
ing equally  all  round  its  circumference,  gently  rounded 
at  the  top,  at  the  base  slightly  inflected  and  insensibly 
losing  itself  in  the  plains.  There  are  no  such  mountains 
in  the  world.  Even  the  volcanoes  which  spring  up 
singly,  far  removed  from  any  other  groups,  and  which 
grow  little  by  little  as  they  eject  cinders  and  lava  side- 
ways upon  their  declivities,  do  not  possess  that  geomet- 
rical regularity.  The  discharge  of  these  internal  sub- 
stances is  sometimes  produced  from  the  central  crater, 
sometimes  from  the  side  crevices ;  small  subordinate  vol- 
canoes spring  up  here  and  there  upon  the  slopes  of  the 
principal  mountain,  raising  up  heaps  on  its  surface. 
Even  the  very  wind  labors  to  impart  an  irregular  shape 
to  it  by  causing  the  showers  of  cinders,  vomited  forth 
during  the  eruption,  to  fall  according  to  its  will. 

But  could  we  compare  our  mountain,  an  old  witness 
of  former  ages,  to  a  volcano,  a  mountain  born  yesterday, 


20  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

and  which,  as  yet,  has  hardly  withstood  the  onslaughts 
of  weather?  Ever  since  the  day  on  which  that  corner 
of  the  earth  whereon  we  live  assumed  its  first  inequality, 
destined  to  be  gradually  transformed  into  a  mountain, 
nature,  which  is  the  motive  force,  has  labored  without 
relaxation  to  modify  the  aspect  of  that  protuberance ; 
here  it  has  raised  up,  elsewhere  it  has  depressed,  the 
mass ;  made  it  bristle  with  peaks,  studded  it  with  cupo- 
las and  domes,  has  inclined,  bent,  excavated,  chiselled, 
toiled  interminably  at  the  ever-changing  surface;  and 
now,  even  before  our  eyes,  the  task  still  goes  on.  To 
the  spirit  which  has  watched  the  mountain  during  the 
lapse  of  ages,  it  must  have  appeared  as  fluctuating,  as 
uncertain,  as  the  ocean  billows  lashed  by  the  storm ;  it  is 
a  wave,  a  vapor;  when  it  shall  have  disappeared,  it  will 
be  but  as  a  dream. 

Yet  amid  this  changing  or  ever-varying  ornamenta- 
tion, produced  by  the  continual  action  of  the  forces  of 
nature,  the  mountain  does  not  cease  to  present  a  sort  of 
superb  rhythm  to  any  one  who  wanders  about  it,  in  order 
to  learn  its  construction.  Whether  the  culminating  por- 
tion is  a  broad  plateau,  a  rounded  mass,  a  vertical  wall, 
a  ridge,  an  isolated  pyramid,  or  even  a  cluster  of  distinct 
needles,  the  whole  mountain  presents  a  general  aspect 
which  harmonizes  with  that  of  the  summit.  From  the 
centre  of  the  mass  to  the  base  of  the  mountain,  other 
peaks,  or  groups  of  subordinate  peaks,  succeed  one  an- 
other on  every  side ;  sometimes  even  at  the  foot  of  the 
last  chain  which  borders  the  alluvion  of  the  plain  or  the 
waters  of  the  ocean,  a  miniature  copy  of  the  mountain 
may  be  seen  springing  up  as  a  small  hillock,  in  the  midst 
of  the  fields,  or  as  a  rock  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  waters. 


LTHE    GREAT    PEAK    CAN 


PEAKS  AND   VALLEYS.  21 

The  outlines  of  all  these  heights,  succeeding  one  another 
as  they  incline  gradually  or  abruptly,  present  a  series  of 
most  graceful  undulations.  This  sinuous  line  uniting 
the  summits  of  the  principal  peak  to  the  plain  is  the 
true  slope — it  is  the  road  which  a  giant  shod  with  magic 
boots  would  take. 

The  mountain  which  so  long  sheltered  me  is  beautiful 
and  serene  beyond  all  others  in  the  calm  regularity  of 
its  features.  From  the  highest  pastures  the  great  peak 
can  be  seen  rising  up  like  a  pyramid  of  irregular  tiers. 
The  contrast  of  the  whiteness  of  the  patches  of  snow 
filling  up  the  hollows  impart  to  it  a  sombre,  almost  black, 
tint ;  but  the  green  of  the  turf,  covering  the  distant  sub- 
ordinate heights,  appears  all  the  softer  in  our  sight ;  and 
our  eyes,  as  they  again  travel  down  the  enormous  for- 
midable-looking mass,  rest  with  ecstasy  upon  the  soft  un- 
dulations of  the  pasture  grounds :  they  are  so  graceful 
in  their  contour,  so  velvety  in  appearance,  that  we  in- 
voluntarily think  of  the  delight  a  giant  would  feel  in 
caressing  them  with  his  hands.  Farther  down,  abrupt 
declivities,  rocky  cliffs,  and  lower  chains  clad  with  woods, 
to  a  great  extent  conceal  the  mountain's  sides  from  me ; 
but  the  whole  appears  all  the  higher,  the  more  sublime 
from  the  fact  that  my  glance  can  only  embrace  one  por- 
tion at  a  time,  as  it  would  a  statue  whose  pedestal  re- 
mains hidden ;  it  is  resplendent  in  the  sky,  in  the  region 
of  clouds,  in  the  pure  light. 

The  beauty  of  the  hollows,  the  chasms,  the  dales,  or 
the  defiles  corresponds  with  that  of  every  kind  of  peak 
and  projection.  Between  the  summit  of  our  mountain 
and  the  next  nearest  point  the  crest  dips  considerably, 
and  leaves  a  very  easy  passage  between  the  two  opposite 

2 


22  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

declivities.  It  is  at  this  depression  of  the  ridge  that  the 
first  indentation  of  the  open  serpentine  valley  enters  the 
two  mountains.  To  this  indentation  others  are  added ; 
then  more  again,  scoring  the  surface  of  the  rocks  and' 
meeting  in  ravines,  which  themselves  converge  towards 
a  circle,  whence,  by  a  series  of  defiles  and  tiers  of  basins, 
the  snow  runs  off  and  the  waters  descend  into  the  val- 
ley. 

Yonder,  where  the  ground  inclines  very  slightly,  fields, 
clusters  of  common  trees,  groups  of  houses,  begin  to  ap- 
pear. On  every  side  dales,  some  of  a  lovely,  others  of  a 
severe  aspect,  bend  towards  the  principal  valley.  Away 
beyond  a  distant  turning,  the  valley  disappears  from  our 
vision ;  but  if  we  do  lose  sight  of  the  bottom,  at  least  we 
can  imagine  its  general  form  and  contour  by  the  more 
or  less  parallel  lines  presented  by  the  outlines  of  the 
lower  chains.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  valley,  with  its  in- 
numerable ramifications  penetrating  into  the  depths  of 
the  mountain,  may  be  compared  to  trees  whose  thou- 
sands of  branches  are  divided  and  subdivided  into  deli- 
cate twigs.  It  is  by  the  form  of  the  valley  and  all  its 
network  of  dales  that  we  can  best  understand  the  real 
elevation  of  the  mountains  separating  them. 

Do  we  not,  from  those  summits  whence  our  eyes  can 
roam  most  freely  over  the  country,  see  a  great  number 
of  peaks  which  we  compare  one  with  another,  and  each 
of  which  enables  us  to  understand  the  rest  ?  Above  the 
sinuous  edge  of  the  height  rising  from  the  yonder  side 
of  the  valley  a  second  outline  of  a  range  can  be  distin- 
guished already  assuming  a  bluish  hue,  and  again  beyond 
it  a  third  or  even  a  fourth  series  of  azure  mountains. 
These  chains,  which  all  eventually  become  attached  to 


PEAKS  AND   VALLEYS.  23 

the  great  ridge  of  the  principal  summits,  are  but  slightly 
parallel  to  one  another,  despite  their  indentations,  and  at 
one  time  appear  to  approach,  then  to  recede,  according 
to  the  freaks  of  the  clouds  and  the  progress  of  the  sun. 
Twice  a  day  the  immense  panorama  of  mountains  is 
steadily  unrolled,  when  the  oblique  morning  and  even- 
ing rays  successively  leave  in  the  shadow  that  portion  of 
the  ground  turned  towards  night,  and  bathe  in  light 
that  which  faces  day.  From  the  most  distant  western 
peaks  to  those  which  can  hardly  be  distinguished  in  the 
east,  there  is  one  harmonious  scale  of  every  color  and 
shade  which  can  be  produced  by  the  effulgence  of  the 
sun  and  the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere.  Among 
these  mountains  are  some  which  a  breath  could  efface, 
so  ephemeral  are  they  in  tone,  so  delicately  traced  upon 
the  sky,  their  background. 

If  but  a  slight  vapor  arises,  an  imperceptible  mist 
forms  on  the  horizon,  or  only  the  sun  in  its  decline  allows 
the  shadows  to  increase,  then  these  beautiful  mountains, 
this  snow,  these  glaciers,  these  pyramids,  vanish  by  de- 
grees, as  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  We  beheld  them 
in  their  splendor,  and  now  they  have  disappeared  from 
the  sky ;  they  are  but  a  dream,  a  vague  memory. 


24  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ROCKS    AND   CRYSTALS. 

THE  hard  rock  of  the  mountains,  as  well  as  that  ex- 
tending beneath  the  plains,  is  covered  almost  everywhere 
with  a  more  or  less  deep  layer  of  vegetable  mould  and 
with  varieties  of  plants.  Here  there  are  forests,  else- 
where brushwood,  heather,  whortleberries,  furze ;  in 
other  places,  again,  and  to  the  greatest  extent,  the  short 
grass  of  pastures.  Even  where  the  rock  appears  naked, 
or  juts  out  in  points,  or  rises  as  a  wall,  the  stone  is  clad 
with  white,  red,  or  yellow  lichens,  which  often  impart  a 
similar  appearance  to  rocks  of  the  most  different  origin. 
Hardly  ever,  even  in  the  cold  regions  of  the  summits,  at 
the  foot  of  glaciers,  and  on  the  confines  of  the  snow, 
does  the  stone  appear  without  a  cover  of  vegetation  to 
disguise  it.  Sandstone,  limestone,  granite,  to  an  unob- 
servant traveller  would  seem  to  be  of  one  and  the  same 
formation.  Yet  the  diversity  of  the  rocks  is  great.  The 
mineralogist  who  wanders,  hammer  in  hand,  through 
the  mountains  may  collect  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
stones  differing  in  appearance,  yet  whose  construction  is 
intimately  connected.  Some  are  of  a  uniform  grain 
throughout ;  others  are  composed  of  different  atoms,  con- 
trasting in  shape,  color,  and  brilliancy.  Some  are  spec- 
kled, ridged,  or  grooved,  transparent,  translucent,  and 


ROCKS  AND  CRYSTALS.  25 

opaque.  Some  are  to  be  seen  bristling  with  crystals, 
with  regular  facets ;  others,  again,  are  ornamented  with 
arborizations,  similar  to  bunches  of  tamarind  or  fern 
fronds.  All  kinds  of  metals  are  found  in  stones,  wheth- 
er in  their  pure  state  or  mingled  one  with  another;  at 
one  time  they  discover  themselves  as  crystals  or  nodules, 
at  others  as  simple  fugitive  erosions,  similar  to  the  brill- 
iant reflections  in  a  soap-bubble.  Then,  too,  there  are 
innumerable  animal  or  vegetable  fossils  enclosed  in  the 
rock,  and  of  which  it  retains  the  impression.  As  many 
separate  fragments  as  there  are,  so  many  different  evi- 
dences are  to  be  found  of  the  creatures  which  have  exist- 
ed during  the  incalculable  series  of  past  centuries. 

Without  being  either  a  professional  mineralogist  or 
geologist,  the  traveller  who  understands  how  to  look  can 
perfectly  see  how  wonderful  is  the  diversity  of  rocks 
composing  the  mass  of  the  mountain.  Such  is  the  con- 
trast between  the  different  parts  of  the  vast  edifice  that, 
even  from  a  distance,  we  can  recognize  to  what  forma- 
tion they  belong.  From  any  isolated  peak  overlooking  an 
extensive  expanse,  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  the  crest  of 
the  granite  dome,  the  pyramid  of  slate,  and  the  wall  of 
calcareous  rock. 

It  is  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  principal  sum- 
mit of  our  mountain  that  the  granite  best  reveals  itself. 
There  a  ridge  of  black  rocks  separates  two  fields  of  snow, 
spreading  out  their  sparkling  whiteness  on  either  side. 
They  might  be  described  as  a  diadem  of  jet  upon  a  mus- 
lin veil.  It  is  by  this  ridge  that  it  is  easiest  to  gain  the 
culminating  point  of  the  mountain,  for  there  the  cre- 
vasses, hidden  beneath  the  uniform  surface  of  the  snow, 
are  avoided.  There  we  can  plant  our  feet  firmly  upon 


26  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

the  ground,  while  by  means  of  our  arras  we  easily  raise 
ourselves  up  step  by  step  in  the  steep  places.  It  was  by 
that  route  that  I  almost  always  made  my  ascent  when, 
leaving  the  flock  and  my  companion  the  shepherd,  I 
went  to  spend  some  hours  on  the  great  peak. 

Seen  from  a  distance  through  the  bluish  vapors  of  the 
atmosphere,  the  granite  ridge  appeared  uniform  enough. 
The  mountaineers,  practical  and  almost  shrewd  in  their 
comparisons,  term  it  a  comb ;  indeed,  it  might  be  said  to 
be  a  row  of  regularly  arranged  pointed  teeth ;  but  when 
in  the  midst  of  the  rock,  we  find  ourselves  in  a  sort  of 
chaos;  needles,  tottering  stones,  heaped -up  boulders, 
strata  superposed  one  above  another,  overhanging  tow- 
ers, walls  propping  themselves  up  against  each  other  and 
leaving  narrow  passages  between  them — such  is  the  ridge 
forming  the  angle  of  the  mountain.  Even  upon  these 
heights  the  rock  is  almost  universally  covered  with  a 
coat  of  lichens ;  but  in  many  places  it  has  been  laid  bare 
by  the  friction  of  ice,  the  moisture  of  the  snow,  the  ac- 
tion of  frosts,  rain,  wind,  and  the  sun's  rays.  Other 
rocks,  rent  by  thunder,  have  become  magnetic  from  the 
shock  of  the  celestial  fire. 

In  the  midst  of  these  ruins,  it  is  easy  to  observe  what, 
until  quite  recently,  was  the  interior  of  the  rock.  I  per- 
ceive crystals  in  all  their  brilliancy,  white  quartz,  felspar 
of  a  pale  rose  color,  mica  resembling  a  silver  spangle. 
In  other  portions  of  the  mountain  the  exposed  granite 
presents  a  fresh  aspect :  in  one  rock  it  is  white  as  mar- 
ble, and  sprinkled  over  with  small  black  spots ;  else- 
where it  is  blue  and  sombre.  Almost  everywhere  it  is 
very  hard,  and  the  slabs  which  might  be  cut  out  of  it 
would  serve  for  the  construction  of  lasting  monuments; 


ROCKS  AND  CRYSTALS.  27 

but  in  othec  places  it  is  so  friable,  the  various  crystals  in 
it  are  so  slightly  aggregated,  that  a  man  can  easily  crush 
them  between  his  fingers.  A  stream,  taking  its  rise  at 
the  foot  of  a  height  composed  of  this  so  slightly  cohe- 
sive material,  spreads  out  in  the  ravine  above  a  bed  of 
the  finest  sand,  all  .sparkling  with  mica.  We  might  im- 
agine that  we  beheld  gold  and  silver  gleaming  through 
the  rippling  water.  More  than  one  rustic  coming  from 
the  plains  has  been  deceived,  and  has  eagerly  rushed 
upon  the  treasure,  which  the  mocking  stream  carelessly 
sweeps  away. 

The  incessant  action  of  the  snow  and  water  permits  us 
to  observe  another  species  of  rock,  which  also  exists  to  a 
great  extent  in  the  mass  of  the  immense  edifice.  Not 
far  from  the  ridges  and  domes  of  granite,  which  are  the 
most  elevated  portions  of  the  mountain,  and  seem,  so  to 
say,  to  be  its  core,  another  subordinate  peak  appears, 
whose  aspect  is  of  a  remarkable  regularity ;  it  might  be 
described  as  a  four-sided  pyramid,  placed  upon  the  enor- 
mous pedestal  formed'  for  it  by  the  plateaux  and  declivi- 
ties. It  is  a  summit  composed  of  slate  rocks,  which  time, 
with  all  its  atmospheric  changes  of  wind,  solar  rays,  snow, 
fog,  and  rain,  incessantly  pares  away.  The  split  slabs  of 
slate  become  fissured,  broken,  and,  in  sliding  masses,  roll 
right  down  the  slope.  Sometimes  a  sheep's  light  step 
suffices  to  set  myriads  of  stones  in  motion  upon  the  whole 
side  of  a  mountain. 

Quite  different  from  the  slate  is  the  calcareous  rock, 
which  forms  some  of  the  foremost  crags.  This  rock, 
when  broken,  is  not  shivered  into  countless  tiny  frag- 
ments, but  into  great  blocks.  Such  a  fracture  has  rent  a 
whole  rock,  three  hundred  yards  high,  from  the  base  to 


28  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

the  summit;  on  either  side  we  see  the  two  vertical  walls 
reaching  up  to  the  sky ;  the  light  can  hardly  penetrate  to 
the  bottom  of  the  chasm,  and  the  water  wherewith  it  is 
filled,  and  that  has  come  down  from  the  snowy  heights, 
only  reflects  the  clearness  from  above  in  its  seething  rap- 
ids and  the  dashing  spray  of  its  cascades.  Nowhere,  not 
even  in  mountains  ten  times  as  high,  does  nature  appear 
grander.  From  afar  the  calcareous  portion  of  the  moun- 
tain reassumes  its  true  proportions,  and  we  see  that  it  is 
commanded  by  much  loftier  rocky  masses,  but  it  always 
surprises  us  by  the  mighty  beauty  of  its  layers  and  up- 
right rocks,  resembling  Babylonian  temples. 

Very  picturesque,  although  relatively  of  slight  impor- 
tance, are  the  sandstone  and  conglomerate  rocks,  com- 
posed of  cemented  fragments.  In  every  part  where  the 
incline  of  the  ground  favors  the  action  of  the  water,  the 
latter  tempers  the  cement  and  digs  out  a  gutter  for  itself 
— a  narrow  fissure,  which  in  course  of  time  ends  by  saw- 
ing the  rock  in  two.  Other  watercourses  have  similarly 
dug  out  other  fissures  near  the  lesser  ones,  deeper  in  pro- 
portion to  the  greater  abundance  of  the  liquid  mass  borne 
away ;  the  rock  thus  cut  in  half  at  last  resembles  a  laby- 
rinth of  obelisks,  towers,  and  fortresses.  Some  of  these 
fragments  of  mountains  now  remind  us  of  deserted  towns, 
with  their  damp,  sinuous  streets,  crenellated  walls,  dun- 
geons, overhanging  towers,  and  curious  statues.  I  still 
recollect  the  impression  of  surprise  bordering  on  fear 
which  I  felt  on  approaching  the  opening  of  a  gorge 
already  invaded  by  the  shades  of  evening.  Afar  off  I 
perceived  the  black  fissure ;  but  beside  the  entrance  on 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  I  also  remarked  strange 
forms,  which  looked  like  giants  in  a  row.  They  were 


ROCKS  AND  CRYSTALS.  29 

high  columns  of  clay,  each  bearing  upon  its  apex  a  great 
round  stone,  which  from  a  distance  seemed  to  be  a  head ; 
the  rain  had  by  degrees  dissolved  and  washed  away  the 
surrounding  soil,  but  the  ponderous  stones  had  been 
respected,  and  by  their  weight  continued  to  impart  con- 
sistency to  the  gigantic  pillars  of  clay  supporting  them. 

Every  crag,  every  rock  belonging  to  the  mountain, 
thus  has  its  own  peculiar  aspect,  according  to  the  mate- 
rial composing  it  and  its  power  of  resisting  the  elements 
of  decay.  Thus  arises  an  infinite  variety  of  forms,  which 
is  still  more  increased  by  the  contrast  presented  to  the 
exterior  of  the  rocks  by  the  snow,  grass,  forests,  and  cul- 
tivation. The  picturesqueness  of  the  lines  and  ground 
is  augmented  by  the  continual  changes  of  Ornamenta- 
tion undergone  by  the  surface.  And  yet  how  very  few 
in  number  are  the  elements  composing  the  mountain, 
and  which  by  their  mixture  impart  to  it  this  prodigious 
variety  of  aspects ! 

The  chemists,  who  in  their  laboratories  analyze  the 
rock,  teach  us  what  is  the  composition  of  these  different 
crystals.  They  tell  us  that  quartz  is  silica,  that  is  to  say, 
oxide  of  silicon,  a  metal  which,  in  its  purer  state,  resem- 
bles silver,  and  when  mixed  with  the  oxygen  of  the  air 
has  become  a  whitish  rock.  They  also  tell  us  that  fel- 
spar, mica,  augite,  hornblende,  and  other  crystals  which 
are  found  in  such  great  variety  in  the  rocks  of  the  moun- 
tain, are  composites,  in  which  other  minerals,  alumini- 
um, potassium,  are  again  found  with  silicon,  united  with 
the  atmospheric  gases  in  varying  proportions,  and  fol- 
lowing certain  laws  of  chemical  affinity.  Every  mountain 
— those  near  at  hand  as  well  as  distant  ones — the  plains 
at  their  base,  and  all  the  whole  earth  are  but  metal  in 

2* 


30  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

an  impure  state ;  if  the  fused  and  mingled  elements  of 
the  mass  of  the  globe  were  suddenly  to  resume  their  pu- 
rity, the  planet  would,  for  the  inhabitants  of  Mars  and 
Yenus  levelling  their  telescopes  at  us,  possess  the  appear- 
ance of  a  silver  ball  revolving  in  a  black  sky. 

The  geologist,  who  seeks  to  discover  the  elements  of 
stones,  often  finds  that  all  the  massive  rocks  composed  of 
crystals  or  crystalline  paste  consist,  as  does  granite,  of 
oxidized  metals ;  such  are  porphyry,  serpentine,  and  the 
igneous  rocks  which  have  issued  from  the  earth  during 
volcanic  explosions;  trachyte,  basalt,  obsidian,  pumice- 
stone:  all  these  come  from  silicon,  aluminium,  potassi- 
um, sodium,  calcium.  As  to  the  rocks  disposed  in  planes 
or  strata,  placed  in  layers  the  one  above  another,  why 
should  they  not  also  be  metals,  since  they,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, result  from  the  disaggregation  and  redistribution  of 
the  massive  rocks  ?  Stones  crushed  to  pieces,  then  ce- 
mented again,  sand  adhering  to  the  rocks  after  having 
been  ground  and  pulverized,  clay  that  has  become  com- 
pact after  having  been  tempered  by  water,  slates  (which 
are  nothing  more  than  hardened  clay),  are  almost  all  the 
remains  of  earlier  rocks,  and,  like  them,  are  composed  of 
metal.  Limestone  alone,  which  constitutes  so  consider- 
able a  portion  of  the  earth's  crust,  does  not  proceed  di- 
rectly from  the  destruction  of  the  most  ancient  rocks ;  it 
is  formed  of  the  debris  which  has  passed  through  the 
organism  of  marine  animals :  they  have  been  eaten  and 
digested,  but  are  none  the  less  metallic ;  their  foundation 
is  calcium  -combined  with  sulphur,  carbon,  and  phospho- 
rus. Thus,  thanks  to  the  mixture,  the  varied  and  chang- 
ing combinations,  the  polished,  uniform,  impenetrable 
mass  of  metal  has  assumed  bold  and  picturesque  forms, 


ROCKS  AND  CRYSTALS.  31 

has  hollowed  itself  into  basins  for  lakes  and  rivers,  has 
clothed  itself  again  with  vegetable  mould,  and  has  ended 
by  entering  even  into  the  sap  of  plants  and  the  blood  of 
animals. 

The  pure  metal  reveals  itself  here  and  there  in  other 
places  amid  the  stones  of  the  mountain.  In  the  midst 
of  landslips  and  on  the  edges  of  springs  ferruginous 
masses  are  often  to  be  seen ;  crystals  of  iron,  copper,  lead, 
combined  with  other  elements,  are  found  in  the  scattered 
remains ;  sometimes  a  particle  of  gold  gleams  in  the  sand 
of  the  stream.  But  in  hard  rocks  neither  the  precious 
mineral  nor  crystals  are  distributed  at  haphazard;  they 
are  disposed  in  ramified  veins,  which  are  especially  devel- 
oped between  beds  of  different  formations.  These  lodes 
of  metal,  like  the  magic  thread  of  the  labyrinth,  have  led 
miners,  and  after  them  geologists,  into  the  depths  and 
history  of  the  mountain. 

Formerly,  so  legends  tell  us,  it  was  easy  to  collect  all 
these  riches  of  the  interior  of  the  mountain ;  all  that  a 
man  needed  was  a  little  luck  and  the  favor  of  the  gods. 
If  he  made  a  false  step,  he  would  catch  hold  of  a  shrub 
to  save  himself.  The  fragile  stem  gave  way,  dragging 
with  it  a  great  stone  that  concealed  a  hitherto  unknown 
cave.  The  shepherd  boldly  forced  his  way  into  the 
opening,  not  without  uttering  some  magic  formula  or 
touching  some  amulet ;  then,  after  having  walked  along 
in  the  dark  passage  for  a  long  time,  he  suddenly  found 
himself  beneath  a  vaulted  roof  of  crystals  and  diamonds ; 
statues  of  gold  and  silver,  profusely  ornamented  with 
rubies ;  topaz  and  sapphires  adhered  to  every  side  of  the 
apartment;  he  needed  but  to  stoop  to  gather  up  the 
treasures.  Not  by  simple  incantations  or  without  trouble 


32  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

can  man  in  our  days  succeed  in  obtaining  gold  or  other 
metals  lying  dormant  in  the  rocks.  The  precious  parti- 
cles are  rare,  impure,  mingled  with  earth,  and  far  the 
greatest  portion  do  not  assume  their  brilliancy  and  value 
until  after  they  have  passed  through  the  refiuing-fur- 
nace. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  33 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   ORIGIN   OF   THE    MOUNTAIN. 

THUS,  down  to  its  very  smallest  atom,  the  enormous 
mountain  presents  a  combination  of  divers  elements, 
which  are  mingled  in  varying  proportions ;  every  crys- 
tal, every  mineral,  every  grain  of  sand  or  particle  of 
limestone,  has  its  endless  history,  just  as  have  the  stars 
themselves.  Like  the  universe,  the  smallest  fragment 
of  rock  possesses  its  genesis ;  but,  while  mutually  aiding 
one  another  by  science,  the  physician,  chemist,  astrolo- 
gist,  and  geologist  are  still  anxiously  asking  themselves 
if  they  do  thoroughly  understand  this  stone  and  the 
mystery  of  its  origin. 

And  is  it  certain  that  they  have  unveiled  the  origin 
of  the  mountain?  When  we  see  all  these  rocks — sand- 
stone, limestone,  slate,  and  granite — can  we  tell  how  the 
prodigious  mass  accumulated  and  rose  up  towards  the 
sky  ?  While  contemplating  it  in  its  superb  beauty,  can 
we  weak  dwarfs,  who  look  on,  examine  ourselves,  and 
say  to  the  mountain,  with  the  conscious  pride  of  satisfied 
intelligence,  "  The  least  of  your  stones  can  crush  us,  but 
yet  we  understand  you ;  we  know  what  was  your  birth, 
what  your  history  ?" 

As  much  as,  and  even  more  than,  we  do  children  ask 
questions  on  beholding  nature  and  its  phenomena ;  but, 


34  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

in  their  simple  confidence,  they  almost  always  content 
themselves  with  the  vague  and  untruthful  reply  given 
by  a  father  or  an  elder  who  does  not  know,  or  by  a  pro- 
fessor who  pretends  to  be  ignorant  of  nothing.  If  they 
did  not  receive  this  reply,  they  would  go  on  searching 
forever,  until  they  had  discovered  for  themselves  some 
kind  of  an  explanation,  for  a  child  cannot  remain  in 
doubt ;  entering  triumphantly  upon  life  full  of  the  sen- 
timent of  his  existence,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
be  able  to  speak  like  an  authority  upon  every  subject. 
Nothing  ought  to  remain  unknown  to  him. 

In  the  same  manner,  nations  who  had  just  emerged 
from  their  pristine  barbarism  found  for  themselves  a 
definitive  explanation  for  everything  that  impressed 
them.  The  first  explanation,  that  which  best  responded 
to  their  intelligence  and  the  habits  of  their  race,  was 
approved.  Transmitted  from  lip  to  lip,  the  legend  end- 
ed by  becoming  the  divine  word,  and  a  tribe  of  inter- 
preters rose  up  to  give  it  the  support  of  their  moral 
authority  and  ceremonies.  It  is  thus  that  in  the  myth- 
ical heritage  of  almost  every  nation  we  find  accounts 
which  relate  to  us  the  birth  of  the  mountains,  rivers, 
earth,  ocean,  plants,  animals,  and  even  of  man  himself. 

The  most  simple  explanation  is  that  which  shows  us 
the  gods  and  genii  hurling  mountains  down  from  heav- 
en, and  allowing  them  to  fall  by  chance,  or  else  raising 
them  up  and  rebuilding  them  carefully  like  the  columns 
destined  to  bear  the  vaults  of  the  skies.  Thus  were 
constructed  Libanus  and  Hermon ;  thus  was  Mount  At- 
las with  those  stalwart  shoulders  planted  at  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  Elsewhere,  when  once  they  were  created,  the 
mountains  frequently  changed  their  places,  and  the  gods 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  35 

utilized  them  for  the  discharge  of  their  thunderbolts. 
The  Titans,  who  were  not  gods,  threw  down  all  the 
mountains  of  Thessaly  in  order  to  use  them  again  for 
building  up  the  ramparts  round  Olympus ;  even  gigan- 
tic Athos  was  not  too  weighty  for  their  arms ;  they 
carried  it  from  the  heart  of  Thracia  into  the  middle  of 
the  sea  to  the  spot  where  it  stands  erect  at  this  present 
day.  A  giantess  of  the  North  had  filled  her  apron  with 
little  hills,  and  dropped  them  at  certain  distances,  that 
she  might  recognize  her  way.  Yishnu,  one  day  seeing 
a  young  girl  asleep  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays, 
took  up  a  mountain  and  held  it  poised  upon  hie  finger- 
tips to  shelter  the  beautiful  sleeper.  This,  the  legend 
tells  us,  was  the  origin  of  sunshades. 

Nor  was  it  even  always  necessary  for  gods  and  giants 
to  lift  up  the  mountains  in  order  to  remove  them ;  the 
latter  obeyed  a  mere  sign.  Stones  hastened  to  listen  to 
the  strains  of  Orpheus's  lyre,  mountains  stood  erect  to 
hear  Apollo ;  it  was  thus  that  Helicon,  the  home  of  the 
Muses,  took  its  birth.  The  prophet  Mohammed  arrived 
two  thousand  years  too  late.  Had  he  been  born  in  an 
age  of  a  simpler  faith  he  would  not  have  gone  to  the 
mountain  ;  it  would  have  gone  to  him. 

Side  by  side  with  this  explanation  of  the  mountain's 
birth  by  the  will  of  the  gods,  the  mythology  of  many 
nations  furnishes  another  less  extravagant.  According 
to  this  idea,  the  rocks  and  mountains  would  be  animate 
organisms  put  forth  naturally  upon  the  earth's  huge 
body  as  is  the  stamen  in  the  corolla  of  a  flower.  While, 
on  the  one  side,  the  ground  descended  to  receive  the 
waters  of  the  ocean,  on  the  other  it  rose  up  towards  the 
sun  to  welcome  its  vivifying  light.  It  is  thus  that  the 


36  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

plants  raise  their  stems  and  turn  their  petals  towards 
the  planet,  looking  down  upon  them  and  imparting  to 
them  their  brilliancy.  But  the  ancient  legends  have 
lost  their  believers,  and  are  merely  poetical  recollections 
for  mankind ;  they  have  retired  to  join  other  dreams ; 
and  the  spirits  of  inquirers,  emancipated  from  these  il- 
lusions, have  become  more  eager  in  their  pursuit  after 
truth.  The  men  of  our  days,  too,  like  those  of  ancient 
times,  have  still  to  repeat,  while  contemplating  the  peaks 
gilded  by  the  light,  "  How  were  they  able  to  raise  them- 
selves up  to  the  sky  ?" 

Even-  in  our  time,  when  learned  men  profess  to  base 
their  theories  upon  observation  and  experience  only, 
many  fancies  sufficiently  resembling  the  legends  of  the 
ancients  as  to  the  origin  of  the-  mountains  still  exist. 
One  big  modern  book  endeavors  to  demonstrate  to  us 
that  the  sun's  light  which  bathes  our  planet  had  become 
solidified,  and  had  condensed  itself  into  table-lands  and 
mountains  all  over  the  earth.  Another  declares  that 
the  attraction  of  the  sun  and  moon,  not  content  twice  a 
day  to  lift  up  the  waves  of  the  sea,  has  also  caused  the 
earth  to  swell,  and  has  carried  up  the  solid  waves  to  the 
regions  of  snow.  Finally,  another  tells  us  how  the  com- 
ets which  have  wandered  astray  in  the  heavens  have 
come  to  collide  with  our  globe,  have  pierced  holes  in  its 
crust  as  stones  shatter  a  piece  of  ice,  and  have  caused 
the  mountains  to  burst  forth  in  long  ranges  and  groups. 

Happily  the  earth,  always  toiling  at  fresh  creations, 
does  not  cease  to  labor  before  our  eyes,  and  shows  us 
how  by  degrees  it  alters  the  rugosities  of  its  surface.  It 
destroys,  but  it  also  reconstructs,  itself  daily ;  constantly 
it  levels  some  mountains  to  raise  up  others,  hollows  out 


;  HOW    WERE    THEY    ABLE    TO    RAISE    THEMSELVES    UP   TO   THE    SKIES  ?" 


THE  ORIGIN  OF   THE  MOUNTAIN.  37 

valleys  just  to  fill  them  up  again.  While  wandering 
over  the  surface  of  the  globe,  and  carefully  observing 
its  natural  phenomena,  we  can  see  how  hills  and  moun- 
tains are  formed — slowly,  it  is  true,  and  not  by  any  sud- 
den upheaval,  as  the  lovers  of  the  marvellous  would 
have  it  to  be.  We  see  them  take  their  birth  either  di- 
rectly from  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  or  indirectly,  so  to 
say,  by  the  erosion  of  plateaux,  just  as  a  block  of  mar- 
ble gradually  assumes  the  form  of  a  statue.  When  an 
insular  or  continental  mass,  some  hundreds  or  thousands 
of  yards  high,  receives  rain  in  abundance,  its  slopes  grad- 
ually become  indented  with  ravines,  dales,  valleys ;  the 
uniform  surface  of  the  plateau  is  cut  into  peaks,  ridges, 
pyramids ;  scooped  out  into  amphitheatres,  basins,  preci- 
pices ;  systems  of  mountains  appear  by  degrees  where- 
ever  the  level  ground  has  rolled  down  to  any  enormous 
extent.  It  is  the  same  in  those  portions  of  the  earth 
where  a  plateau  assailed  by  rain  on  one  side  only  is  cut 
up  into  mountains  merely  on  that  slope;  thus  is  in 
Spain  that  terrace  of  La  Mancha  where  it  descends  tow- 
ards Andalusia  by  the  escarpments  of  the  Sierra  Morena. 
In  addition  to  these  external  causes  which  change 
plateaux  into  mountains,  slow  transformations  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  earth  are  also  being  accomplished,  bringing 
about  vast  excavations.  Those  hard-working  men  who, 
hammer  in  hand,  go  about  for  many  years  among  the 
mountains  in  order  to  study  their  form  and  structure, 
observe,  in  the  lower  beds  of  marine  formation  which 
constitute  the  non-crystalline  portion  of  the  mountains, 
gigantic  rents  or  fissures  extending  thousands  of  yards 
in  length.  Masses,  millions  of  yards  thick,  have  been 
completely  raised  up  again  by  these  shocks,  or  turned  as 


38  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

completely  upside  down,  so  that  what  was  formerly  the 
surface  has  now  become  the  bottom.  The  beds  giving 
way  in  consequence  of  successive  shocks  have  bared  the 
skeleton  of  crystalline  rocks  which  they  enveloped  as  if 
with  a  mantle;  they  have  exposed  the  core  of  the  moun- 
tain, as  a  curtain  suddenly  drawn  aside  discovers  a  hid- 
den statue. 

But  such  falling -away  has  been  of  less  importance 
than  has  plication  in  the  history  of  the  earth  and  the 
mountains  forming  its  external  inequalities.  Subjected 
to  slow  secular  pressure,  the  rock,  the  clay,  the  layers 
of  sandstone,  the  veins  of  metal,  can  all  be  folded  up 
like  a  piece  of  cloth,  and  the  folds  thus  formed  become 
mountains  and  valleys.  The  earth's  surface,  similarly  to 
that  of  the  ocean,  is  stirred  up  into  waves ;  but  these  un- 
dulations are  of  a  very  different  magnitude :  the  Andes, 
the  Himalayas,  for  instance,  thus  rear  themselves  up 
again  above  the  level  of  the  plains.  The  rocks  of  the 
earth  find  themselves  constantly  subjected  to  these  lat- 
eral impulsions,  which  fold  and  refold  them  in  different 
directions,  keeping  the  beds  incessantly  in  a  state  of 
fluctuation.  It  is  thus  that  the  skin  of  fruit  becomes 
wrinkled. 

The  peaks  which  rise  straight  up  from  the  ground 
and  gradually  climb  from  the  level  of  the  sea  towards 
the  frigid  altitudes  of  the  atmosphere  are  mountains  of 
lava  and  volcanic  cinders.  In  many  parts  of  the  terres- 
trial surface  they  can  easily  be  studied  rising,  growing 
before  the  naked  eye.  Differing  vastly  from  ordinary 
mountains,  volcanoes,. properly  so  called,  are  perforated 
by  a  central  crater  through  which  the  smoke  and  pul- 
verized fragments  of  burnt  rock  escape ;  but  when  they 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  39 

become  extinguished  the  crater  closes,  and  the  slopes  of 
the  volcanic  cone,  whose  outline  loses  its  pristine  regular- 
ity beneath  the  influence  of  rains  and  vegetation,  end 
by  resembling  those  of  other  mountains.  Elsewhere 
there  are  rocky  masses  which,  rising  out  of  the  bosom 
of  the  earth  either  in  a  liquid  or  pulpy  state,  simply 
issue  from  a  long  fissure  in  the  ground,  and  are  not 
thrown  up  by  a  crater  as  are  the  scoriae  of  Vesuvius 
and  Etna.  The  lava,  accumulating  in  peaks  and  branch- 
ing out  into  promontories,  merely  differs  by  its  youth 
from  those  old  hoary-headed  mountains  with  which  oth- 
er portions  of  the  earth's  surface  bristle.  The  lava,  once 
boiling,  gradually  cools ;  it  flows  into  fresh  beds  outside, 
and  clothes  itself  anew  with  vegetable  mould;  it  re- 
ceives the  rain  in  its  interstices,  sending  it  forth  again 
as  streamlets  and  rivers ;  finally,  it  is  covered  once  more 
at  its  base  with  new  geological  formations,  and  becomes 
surrounded,  like  the  other  mountains,  with  layers  of 
gravel,  sand,  or  clay.  In  course  of  time,  all  that  the 
geologist's  eye  can  discover  is  that  they  have  sprung  out 
of  the  bosom  of  that  great  furnace,  the  earth,  as  if  a 
mass  of  fused  metal. 

Among  these  ancient  mountains,  forming  a  portion  of 
those  groups  and  systems  termed  the  "vertebral  col- 
umns "  of  the  continents,  are  many  composed  of  rocks 
very  similar  to  actual  lava,  and  of  an  analogous  chemical 
formation.  The  greatest  portion  of  the  granite  rocks 
seem  to  be  formed  in  the  same  manner  as  these  lavas 
— porphyries,  traps,  and  melaphyres — which  have  issued 
from  the  earth  through  wide  fissures,  and  have  spread 
out  over  the  ground  like  a  viscous  substance,  which 
would  soon  congeal  on  coming  into  contact  with  the  air. 


40  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

They,  as  well  as  lava,  are  crystalline,  and  their  crystals 
contain  the  same  simple  substances  in  their  elements, 
silicium  and  aluminium.  Is  it  not  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose that  granite  has  also  been  a  paste-like  mass,  and  the 
crevices  of  the  ground  have  afforded  a  passage  to  its 
boiling  streams  ?  All  the  same,  this  is  but  an  hypothesis 
now  under  discussion,  and  not  a  demonstrated  truth.  It 
is  believed  that  as  the  lava,  which  springs  out  of  the 
earth,  sometimes  lifts  up  strips  of  ground  with  its  for- 
ests or  fields,  so  have  eruptions  of  granite  or  similar  rocks 
been  the  most  frequent  cause  of  the  upheaval  of  strata 
of  various  formations  constituting  the  most  considerable 
portion  of  the  mountains.  Strata  of  lime,  sandstone,  and 
clay,  which  the  waters  of  the  sea  or  of  a  lake  had  once 
deposited  in  parallel  layers  upon  the  bottom  of  their 
bed,  and  which  had  become  the  external  pellicle  of 
the  earth,  would  have  been  thus  bent  down  and  set  up 
again  by  the  mass  rising  out  of  the  depths  in  search  of 
a  means  of  egress.  Here  the  swelling  wave  of  granite 
would  have  broken  the  upper  strata  into  isles  and  islands, 
all  of  which,  disconnected,  split  up,  crumpled  into  vari- 
ous folds,  are  now  dispersed  among  the  depressions  and 
upon  the  points  of  the  upheaving  rock ;  elsewhere  the 
granite  would  have  opened  but  one  crevice  for  its  pas- 
sage through  the  ground,  by  folding  back  on  either  side 
the  outer  layers,  following  the  inclination  of  the  most 
varied  angles ;  again,  in  other  places  the  granite,  without 
even  reaching  daylight,  would  none  the  less  have  thrown 
out  hummocks  on  the  upper  strata.  These,  under  the 
pressure  which  had  caused  them  to  become  folded,  would 
have  ceased  to  be  plains,  in  order  to  be  transformed  into 
hills  and  mountains.  Thus  even  the  heights  formed  of 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  41 

strata,  quietly  deposited  at  the  bottom  of  the  waters, 
could  have  erected  themselves  into  peaks,  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  protuberances  of  lava ;  a  well  dug  through 
the  superposed  beds  would  reach  the  nucleus  of  porphyry 
or  granite. 

While  admitting  that  most  of  the  mountains  have 
made  their  appearance  in  the  same  manner  as  those  of 
lava,  the  cause,  inducing  all  these  substances  to  burst 
from  the  earth  in  a  state  of  fusion,  still  remains  a  subject 
for  reflection.  Ordinarily  people  suppose  that  it  has 
been  explained,  so  to  say,  by  the  contraction  of  the  outer 
crust  of  the  globe,  which  slowly  cooled  while  radiating 
heat  into  space.  Formerly  our  planet  was  a  drop  of 
burning  metal.  While  rolling  through  the  cold  firma- 
ment it  has  gradually  become  congealed.  But  is  it  the 
shell  alone  that  has  become  solidified,  as  people  love  to 
say,  or  has  the  whole  drop  been  rendered  hard,  down  to 
its  very  core?  As  yet  this  is  not  known,  for  there  is 
nothing  to  prove  that  the  lava  of  our  volcanoes  issues 
from  an  immense  reservoir,  supplying  all  the  interior  of 
the  globe.  We  only  know  that  sometimes  the  lava 
forces  itself  through  the  crevices  of  the  ground,  and 
flows  to  the  surface,  just  as  the  granite,  porphyry,  and 
other  similar  rocks  are  said  to  have  flowed  out  of  fissures 
in  the  terrestrial  bark,  as  the  sap  escapes  through  a 
wound  in  a  plant.  The  tide  of  shattered  stones  is  said 
to  have  risen  from  the  interior,  under  the  pressure  of 
the  planetary  crust,  gradually  to  be  once  more  contracted 
by  its  own  process  of  cooling. 


42  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FOSSILS. 

WHATSOEVER  may  be  the  primary  origin  of  the  moun- 
tain, its  history  has  at  least  been  known  to  us  ever  since 
a  period  greatly  anterior  to  the  annals  of  our  human 
race.  One  hundred  and  fifty  generations  of  man  have 
barely  succeeded  one  another  since  the  first  acts  of  our 
ancestors  were  accomplished,  evidences  of  whom  have 
remained ;  before  that  period  the  existence  of  our  race 
has  only  been  revealed  to  us  by  doubtful  monuments. 
The  inanimate  history  of  the  mountain,  on  the  contrary, 
has  been  written  in  visible  characters  for  millions  of 
centuries. 

The  great  work,  that  which  even  struck  our  forefathers 
ever  since  the  infancy  of  civilization,  and  which  they  re- 
lated in  various  ways  in  their  legends,  is  that  the  rocks, 
distributed  in  regular  layers,  the  one  above  another,  like 
the  stones  of  a  building,  have  been  deposited  by  the 
waters.  Let  any  person  walk  along  the  edge  of  a  river, 
look  at  the  temporary  gutter  formed  in  the  depressions 
of  the  soil,  and  he  will  see  the  current  seize  upon  gravel, 
grains  of  sand,  dust,  and  all  the  scattered  detritus,  to  dis- 
tribute them  in  order  upon  the  bottom  and  shores  of  its 
bed  ;  the  heaviest  fragments  will  be  disposed  in  layers  at 
those  spots  where  the  water  loses  some  of  the  rapidity  of 


"UPON    THE    ROCKY    SHORES    OF    THK    OCKAN." 


FOSSILS.  43 

its  first  impetus,  the  lighter  molecules  will  proceed  far- 
ther, spreading  themselves  in  beds  upon  the  smooth  sur- 
face, and  finally  the  tenuous  clay,  whose  weight  hardly 
•exceeds  that  of  the  water,  will  settle  down  in  layers 
wherever  the  torrent -like  motion  of  the  water  stops. 
Upon  the  shores,  and  in  the  basins  of  lakes  and  seas,  the 
layers  of  debris  deposited  successively  are  still  much 
more  regular,  for  those  waters  do  not  possess  the  impet- 
uous motion  of  running  streams,  and  everything  received 
by  their  surface  is  sifted  through  the  depth  of  their 
stationary  waters,  without  anything  occurring  to  disturb 
the  equable  action  of  the  waves  and  currents. 

It  is  thus  that  in  this  vast  nature  the  division  of  labor 
is  arranged.  Upon  the  rocky  shores  of  the  ocean,  beaten 
by  the  waves  of  the  offing,  we  see  nothing  but  gravel 
and  heaped -up  boulders.  Elsewhere,  stretching  away 
beyond  our  sight,  are  beaches  of  fine  sand,  upon  which 
the  tidal  waves  roll  up  in  volutes  of  foam.  Those  who 
take  soundings  to  study  the  floor  of  the  sea  tell  us  that 
upon  vast  extents,  as  large  as  provinces,  the  remains 
which  their  instruments  bring  up  are  always  composed 
of  a  uniform  mud,  more  or  less  mixed  with  clay  or  sand, 
according  to  the  different  latitudes.  They  have  also 
proved  that  in  other  portions  of  the  ocean  the  rock 
formed  at  the  bottom  of  the  marine  bed  is  of  pure  chalk. 
Shells,  spicules  of  sponge,  animalculse  of  all  descriptions, 
inferior  organisms,  silicious  or  calcareous,  fall  incessantly, 
like  rain,  from  the  surface  waters,  and  become  mingled 
with  the  innumerable  creatures  which  multiply,  live, 
and  die  on  the  bottom  in  sufficiently  great  numbers  to 
constitute  strata  as  deep  as  those  of  our  mountains ;  but, 
then,  are  not  these  formed  of  detritus  of  the  same  kind  ? 


44  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

In  an  unknown  future,  when  the  actual  abysses  of  the 
ocean  shall  be  extended  as  plains,  or  rise  up  again  as 
peaks  in  the  sun's  light,  our  descendants  will  behold 
geological  portions  of  ground  similar  to  those  which  we 
see  to-day,  and  which,  perhaps,  may  have  disappeared, 
cut  up  into  fragments  by  the  flowing  waters. 

During  the  course  of  ages,  the  strata  of  marine  and 
lacustrine  formation,  of  which  the  greatest  part  of  our 
mountain  is  composed,  have  succeeded  in  occupying,  at  a 
great  elevation  above  the  sea,  their  sloping,  contorted, 
and  curiously  folded  position.  Whether  they  have  been 
upheaved  by  pressure  from  below,  or  whether  the  ocean 
has  receded  in  consequence  of  the  earth  becoming  con- 
gealed and  contracted,  or  else  from  some  totally  differ- 
ent cause,  and  that  in  this  manner  it  had  left  layers  of 
sand  and  limestone  upon  the  ancient  shoals,  which  have 
since  become  continents,  there  these  layers  are  now,  and 
we  can  study  at  our  leisure  the  remains  which  many  of 
them  have  brought  up  from  the  submarine  world. 

These  remains  are  fossils,  the  debris  of  plants  and  ani- 
mals preserved  in  the  rock.  It  is  true  that  the  molecules 
composing  the  framework,  animal  or  vegetable,  of  these 
bodies  have  disappeared  with  the  tissue  of  the  flesh  and 
the  drops  of  blood  or  sap ;  but  the  whole  has  been  re- 
placed by  particles  of  stone  which  have  kept  the  form 
and  even  the  color  of  the  creature  destroyed.  Within 
the  thickness  of  these  stones,  shells  of  mollnsks,  disks, 
spheres,  spines,  cylinders,  silicious  and  calcareous  bits  of 
stick,  of  foraminifera  and  diatoms,  are  to  be  met  with 
in  astounding  numbers;  but  we  also  find  forms  which 
exactly  correspond  with  the  soft  flesh  of  the  creatures 
of  these  organizations ;  we  see  the  skeletons  of  fish  with 


FOSSILS.  45 

their  fins  and  scales;  recognize  the  wing-sheaths  of  insects, 
twigs  and  leaves,  even  footprints  can  be  distinguished ; 
upon  the  hard  rock,  too,  which  was  formerly  the  shift- 
ing sand  of  the  beach,  we  find  the  impression  of  drops 
of  rain,  and  the  intersecting  ripple-marks  traced  by  the 
wavelets  on  the  shore. 

Fossils  very  rare  in  certain  rocks  of  marine  formation, 
very  numerous,  on  the  contrary,  in  other  strata,  and  con- 
stituting almost  the  entire  mass  of  marble  and  chalk, 
help  us  to  recognize  the  relative  age  of  the  strata  which 
have  been  deposited  in  the  course  of  time  All  the  fos- 
siliferous  beds,  indeed,  have  not  been  turned  upside 
down,  or  curiously  mixed  up  by  excavations  and  land- 
slips ;  most  of  them  have  even  preserved  their  regular 
superposition,  so  that  the  fossils  can  be  studied  and  col- 
lected in  the  order  in  which  they  appeared.  Where  the 
strata,  still  in  their  normal  condition,  maintain  the  posi- 
tion they  formerly  occupied  after  having  been  deposited 
by  the  maritime  or  lacustrine  waters,  the  shells  dis- 
covered in  the  upper  bed  are  certainly  more  modern  than 
those  of  the  layers  situated  lower  down.  Hundreds, 
thousands  of  years,  represented  by  innumerable  inter- 
mediate atoms  of  lime  or  sandstone,  have  separated  the 
two  epochs  of  existence. 

If  the  same  species  of  plants  and  animals  had  always 
lived  upon  the  earth,  ever  since  the  day  on  which  these 
animate  organisms  made  their  first  appearance  upon  the 
congealed  crust  of  the  planet,  we  should  not  have  been 
able  to  judge  of  the  relative  age  of  the  two  terrestrial 
strata,  separated  one  from  the  other.  But  different 
creatures  have  not  ceased  to  succeed  one  another  for 
many  ages,  and  consequently,  also,  in  the  superposed 


46  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

strata.  Certain  forms  which  may  be  seen  in  great  abun- 
dance in  the  heart  of  the  most  ancient  stratified  rocks 
gradually  become  rarer  in  those  of  less  remote  origin, 
and  then  end  by  disappearing  altogether.  The  new  spe- 
cies which  succeed  the  first  have  also,  like  every  indi- 
vidual creature,  their  period  of  regeneration,  propaga- 
tion, decay,  and  death ;  every  species  of  animal  or  vege- 
table fossil  might  be  compared  to  a  gigantic  tree  whose 
roots  plunge  into  the  lower  domains  of  ancient  forma- 
tion, and  whose  trunk  becomes  ramified,  finally  losing 
itself  in  the  higher  strata  of  more  recent  origin. 

Those  geologists  who,  in  different  countries  of  the 
world,  spend  their  time  in  examining  and  studying  the 
rocks,  molecule  by  molecule,  in  order  to  discover  in  them 
vestiges  of  once  living  creatures,  have  been  able,  thanks 
to  the  order  of  succession  of  every  species  of  fossil,  to 
recognize  in  the  imprisoned  remains  the  relative  age  of 
the  different  strata  of  the  earth  deposited  by  the  waters. 
Ever  since  sufficiently  numerous  observations  have  been 
compared  with  one  another,  it  is  even  frequently  easy, 
on  seeing  a  single  fossil,  to  pronounce  to  what  epoch  of 
terrestrial  ages  belongs  the  rock  in  which  it  was  found. 
Any  specimen  whatever  of  limestone,  schist,  or  sand- 
stone, showing  a  clear  impression  of  shell  or  plant,  will 
often  suffice.  The  naturalist,  without  any  fear  of  being 
mistaken,  declares  that  the  stone  in  which  the  impression 
is  marked  belongs  to  such  and  such  a  series  of  rocks,  and 
ought  to  be  classified  in  such  and  such  an  epoch  in  the 
planet's  history. 

These  testimony -bearing  fossils,  which  in- an  animate 
form  moved,  millions  of  years  ago,  in  the  mud  of  oceanic 
abysses,  are  now  met  with  again  at  every  height  in  the 


FOSSILS.  47 

mountain  strata.  They  are  to  be  seen  on  most  of  the 
Pyrenean  peaks ;  they  constitute  whole  Alps  ;  they  are 
recognized  upon  the  Caucasus  and  Cordilleras.  Equal- 
ly would  man  see  them  on  the  summits  of  the  Hima- 
laya if  he  could  attain  those  altitudes.  Nor  is  this  all ; 
these  fossiliferous  beds,  which  to-day  pass  beyond  the 
middle  zone  of  the  clouds,  formerly  reached  much  more 
considerable  elevations.  In  many  places,  upon  one  side 
of  a  mountain,  it  is  shown  that  the  strata  of  rocks  are 
more  or  less  frequently  interrupted.  Here  and  there, 
perhaps,  the  geologist  may  again  find  some  portions  of 
these  beds,  but  they  do  not  continue  to  any  extent  until 
much  farther  away  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  moun- 
tain. What  has  become  of  the  intermediate  fragments  ? 
They  existed  formerly,  for,  even  when  breaking  through 
them,  the  granite  mass  rising  out  of  the  interior  could 
only  split  them,  but  none  the  less  have  the  cracked  strata 
remained  upon  the  slippery  summit. 


48  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   DESTRUCTION   OF   THE   PEAKS. 

AND  yet  these  enormous  masses,  mountains  piled  upon 
mountains,  have  passed  away  like  clouds  swept  along  the 
sky  by  the  wind ;  the  strata  four  or  five  thousand  yards 
thick,  which  the  geological  section  of  rocks  shows  us  had 
formerly  existed,  have  disappeared  to  enter  into  the  cir- 
cuit of  a  new  creation.  It  is  true  that  the  mountain  still 
appears  formidable  to  us,  and  we  contemplate  with  ad- 
miration, mingled  with  alarm,  the  superb  peaks  pene- 
trating far  away  beyond  the  clouds,  into  the  icy  atmos- 
phere of  space.  So  lofty  are  these  snow-clad  pyramids 
that  they  conceal  one  half  of  the  sky  from  us;  from  below, 
their  precipices,  which  in  vain  our  glance  tries  to  grasp, 
make  us  dizzy.  Yet  all  this  is  but  a  ruin — mere  debris. 

Formerly  the  strata  of  slates,  limestone,  sandstone, 
which  rested  against  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  here 
and  there  raised  themselves  up  into  secondary  summits, 
would  meet  again  above  the  top  of  the  granite  in  uni- 
form layers  ;  they  added  their  enormous  thickness  to  the 
already  great  height  of  the  topmost  peak.  The  altitude 
of  the  mountain  was  doubled;  the  apex  then  attained 
that  region  in  which  the  atmosphere  is  so  rarefied  that 
even  an  eagle's  wings  no  longer  possess  the  power  to 
support  him.  It  is  not  now  our  glance,  it  is  our  irnagina- 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  PEAKS.  49 

tion  that  is  filled  with  dread  at  the  thought  of  what  this 
mountain  then  was,  and  of  what  the  snow,  the  frosts, 
the  rains,  and  the  storms  have  swept  away  from  it  in  the 
course  of  ages.  What  infinite  history,  what  vicissitudes 
without  number,  in  the  succession  of  plants,  animals,  and 
man  since  the  mountains  have  thus  changed  their  form 
and  lost  the  half  of  their  height ! 

This  prodigious  work  of  paring  away  could  not  be  ac- 
complished without,  in  many  places,  leaving  unexcep- 
tionable traces  behind.  The  ddbris  which,  with  the  snow, 
has  slipped  from  the  top  of  the  peaks,  driven  down  be- 
fore it  by  the  ice,  having  been  triturated,  pared,  carried 
away  as  boulders,  gravel,  and  sand  by  the  waters,  has 
not  always  returned  to  the  sea,  whence,  at  an  anterior 
period,  it  came  forth;  enormous  accumulations  are  still 
to  be  seen  in  the  space  that  separates  the  bold  de- 
clivities of  the  mountains  from  the  low  lands  bordering 
on  the  ocean.  In  this  intermediate  zone,  in  which  the 
smaller  hills  run  out  in  long  undulations  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea,  the  soil  is  entirely  composed  of  rolled-down 
stones  and  heaped-up  gravel.  All  are  the  remains  of  the 
mountain,  reduced  by  the  water  into  minute  fragments, 
transported  in  small  quantities,  and  poured  out  in  vast 
alluvions  at  the  mouths  of  large  valleys.  The  torrents, 
descended  from  the  heights,  excavate  at  their  leisure  these 
plateaux  of  debris,  causing  the  talus  to  slip  down  the  in- 
dentations which  they  have  dug  out.  On  the  slopes  of 
the  deep  ditch,  with  its  winding  stream,  the  divers  rocks 
which  provided  the  materials  for  the  great  edifice,  the 
mountain,  are  to  be  seen  in  the  most  glaring  confusion  : 
here  are  blocks  of  granite  and  fragments  of  porphyry ; 
there  are  schists,  with  sharp  ridges,  half  buried  in  the 

3* 


50  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

sand ;  in  other  places  are  pieces  of  quartz,  sandstone, 
boulders  of  limestone,  lumps  of  mineral  ore,  dull  crys- 
tals. Also  are  to  be  found  fossils  of  different  periods, 
and,  in  those  openings  in  which  the  waters  have  so  long 
been  eddying  round,  many  skeletons  of  floating  animals 
have  been  arrested.  It  is  there  that  by  thousands  were 
discovered  bones  of  the  hippalion,  urus,  elk,  rhinoceros, 
mastodon,  mammoth,  and  other  great  mammalia,  which 
formerly  wandered  about  our  fields,  and  have  now  disap- 
peared, yielding  to  man  the  dominion  of  the  world.  The 
same  torrents  which  brought  all  these  remains  carry  them 
away  again  piece  by  piece,  reducing  them  to  powder ; 
skeletons  and  fossils,  clay  and  sand,  blocks  of  schist,  of 
sandstone,  and  porphyry,  all  give  way  by  degrees — all 
wend  their  way  to  the  sea;  the  immense  work  of  denu- 
dation, which  has  been  accomplished  in  the  great  moun- 
tain, commences  again  on  a  small  scale  with  the  accumu- 
lations of  rubbish ;  hollowed  out  into  ravines  by  the  wa- 
ter, they  gradually  fall  away  in  height — they  break  up 
into  distinct  hills.  Nevertheless,  even  diminished  as  it 
is  by  the  work  of  centuries,  all  crumbling  and  ruined, 
the  plateau  of  detritus,  extended  at  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain, would  suffice  to  add  some  thousands  of  yards  to  the 
principal  peak,  if  it  were  to  resume  its  first  position  in 
the  strata  of  rock.  "It  is  by  licking  the  mountains," 
says  an  ancient  prayer  of  the  Hindoos,  "  that  the  celes- 
tial cow  "  (that  is  to  say,  the  rain  from  heaven)  "  formed 
the  fields." 

Under  our  very  eyes  the  work  of  denudation  of  the 
rocks  goes  on  with  surprising  activity.  We  see  moun- 
tains, composed  of  very  incoherent  materials,  melt,  dis- 
solve, so  to  say ;  gorges  are  hollowed  out  in  the  sides  of 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  PEAKS.  51 

the  mountain,  breaches  opened  in  the  centre  of  the  crest ; 
furrowed  by  avalanches  and  floods,  the  great  mass,  so 
lately  compact  and  solitary,  by  degrees  becomes  divided 
into  two  distinct  peaks,  apparently  retreating  from  one 
another  as  the  excavation  of  the  separating  gulf  extends 
farther  and  farther  down. 

Especially  in  the  spring,  when  the  ground  has  been 
saturated  with  the  melting  snow,  landslips,  subsidence, 
and  erosion  assume  such  proportions  that  the  whole 
mountain  seems  to  desire  to  sink  down  and  to  take  its 
way  into  the  plain.  One  damp,  warm  day,  I  had  vent- 
ured into  one  of  the  mountain  gorges  to  look  at  the 
snow  once  more  before  the  .waters  of  spring  should  have 
swept  it  away.  It  still  obstructed  the  bottom  of  the  ra- 
vine, but  in  many  places  it  was  unrecognizable,  to  such 
an  extent  was  it  covered  with  black  debris  and  mixed  up 
with  mud.  The  slate  -  colored  rocks  commanding  the 
gorge  seemed  to  be  changed  into  a  sort  of  pulp,  and  to 
have  sunk  down  in  great  lumps ;  the  black  mire  oozing 
in  streamlets  out  of  the  walls  of  the  defile  was  pouring 
with  a  dull  rumbling  sound  into  the  semi-liquid  snow. 
On  every  side  I  beheld  nothing  but  cataracts  of  sullied 
snow  and  debris ;  instinctively  I  asked  myself,  in  a  sort 
of  alarm,  if  the  rocks,  melting  like  the  snow,  would  not 
unite  at  the  head  of  the  valley  in  one  viscous  mass  and 
make  their  escape  right  down  the  country?  The  tor- 
rent, which  I  perceived  here  and  there  through  holes,  to 
the  bottom  of  which  the  upper  beds  of  snow  had  fallen, 
appeared  to  be  transformed  into  a  river  of  ink,  so  heav- 
ily were  its  waters  laden  with  detritus  ;  it  was  one  enor- 
mous mass  of  mud  in  motion.  Instead  of  the  clear,  joy- 
ous sound  I  had  been  accustomed  to  hear,  the  torrent  sent 


52  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

forth  one  continual  roar,  arising  from  the  rubbish  re- 
volving on  the  bottom  of  the  bed.  It  is  in  spring  espe- 
cially, at  the  period  of  the  earth's  annual  renovation, 
that  we  see  this  prodigious  work  of  destruction  carried 
out. 

In  addition  to  this,  an  immense  amount  of  invisible 
labor  goes  on  inside  the  stone.  All  the  changes  caused 
by  the  weather  are  but  external  modifications;  the  in- 
ternal transformations  accomplished  in  the  molecules  of 
rock  have  at  least  equally  important  results.  While  the 
mountain  displaces  its  stones  on  the  exterior  and  inces- 
santly changes  its  aspect,  in  the  interior  it  assumes  a  new 
structure,  and  even  the  composition  of  the  strata  becomes 
modified.  Taken  in  its  ensemble,  the  mountain  is  an  im- 
mense natural  laboratory  in  which  all  the  physical  and 
chemical  forces  are  at  work,  making  use  of  time,  that 
sovereign  agent  which  man  has  not  at  his  disposal,  in  or- 
der to  accomplish  their  task. 

In  the  first  place,  the  enormous  weight  of  the  moun- 
tain, equivalent  to  hundreds  of  thousands  of  tons,  presses 
so  powerfully  upon  the  lower  rocks  as  to  impart  to  many 
of  them  a  very  different  appearance  from  that  which 
they  possessed  on  emerging  from  the  sea.  Little  by  lit- 
tle, beneath  this  formidable  pressure,  the  slates  and  other 
schistous  formations  assume  a  leaf -like  structure.  While 
thousands  and  thousands  of  centuries  are  passing  awa}T, 
the  compressed  molecules  grow  into  thinner  leaflets, 
which  eventually  can  be  easily  separated,  when,  after 
some  geological  revolution,  the  rock  once  more  finds  it- 
self brought  to  the  surface.  The  action  of  the  earth's 
heat,  up  to  a  certain  distance  at  least,  increases  with  the 
depth,  and  also  contributes  to  changing  the  structure  of 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  PEAKS.         53 

the  rocks.     It  is  thus  that  the  limestones  have  been  trans- 
formed into  marble. 

But  not  only  do  the  molecules  of  the  rock  approach 
or  retire  from  one  another,  group  themselves  diversely 
according  to  the  physical  conditions  in  which  they  find 
themselves  during  the  course  of  ages,  but  the  composi- 
tion of  the  stones  changes  equally ;  it  is  one  continual 
crossing  backward  and  forward — an  incessant  travelling 
to  and  fro  of  the  bodies  which  displace,  become  mixed 
up  with,  and  follow  one  another.  The  water  which  pen- 
etrates through  all  the  fissures  into  the  thickness  of  the 
mountain,  and  that  which  rises  up  again  in  vapors  from 
the  profound  abysses,  serves  as  the  principal  vehicle  for 
those  elements,  at  one  time  attracting,  then  repelling  one 
another,  which  are  drawn  down  into  the  great  vortex  of 
geological  life.  One  crystal  is  driven  out  by  another 
from  the  fissures  of  the  mountain ;  iron,  copper,  silver, 
or  gold  replace  the  clay  and  hot  lime ;  the  dull  rock  be- 
comes irisated  with  the  multitude  of  substances  pene- 
trating it.  By  the  displacement  of  carbon,  sulphur,  and 
phosphorus,  the  lime  becomes  marl,  dolomite,  plaster, 
gypsum,  crystalline ;  in  consequence  of  these  new  com- 
binations, the  rock  expands  or  contracts,  and  revolutions 
are  slowly  accomplished  in  the  bosom  of  the  mountain. 
Soon  the  stone,  compressed  into  too  narrow  a  space,  up- 
heaves, scatters  the  superincumbent  strata,  causes  enor- 
mous pieces  to  fall  away,  and,  by  slow  efforts,  whose  re- 
sults are  the  same  as  those  of  a  prodigious  explosion, 
gives  a  new  arrangement  to  the  rocks  of  the  mountain. 
At  one  time  the  stone  contracts,  splits,  hollows  itself  out 
into  grottos  and  galleries ;  a  great  downfall  takes  place, 
thus  modifying  the  exterior  aspect  and  form  of  the 


54  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

mountain.  At  every  internal  modification  in  the  com- 
position of  the  rock,  a  corresponding  change  takes  place 
outside.  In  itself  the  mountain  recapitulates  every  geo- 
logical revolution.  It  has  grown  during  thousands  of 
centuries,  diminished  during  other  thousands,  and  in  its 
strata  all  the  phenomena  of  increase  and  decrease,  of 
formation  and  destruction,  which  are  accomplished  on  a 
larger  scale  in  the  great  earth  succeed  one  another  with- 
out end.  The  history  of  the  mountain  is  that  of  the 
planet  itself ;  it  is  one  unceasing  destroying,  one  endless 
building-up  again. 

Every  rock  recapitulates  a  geological  period.  In  this 
mountain,  so  graceful  in  its  outline,  the  earth  springs  up 
so  grandly  that  any  one  would  believe  it  to  be  the  work 
of  one  day,  such  unity  does  its  whole  form  betray,  so 
thoroughly  do  the  details  coincide  with  the  general  har- 
mony. And  yet  a  myriad  of  centuries  has  been  spent 
in  modelling  this  mountain.  Here  some  ancient  granite 
tells  of  past  ages  in  which  the  vegetable  fibre  had  not  yet 
covered  the  terrestrial  scoriae.  The  gneiss  itself,  only 
formed  at  a  time  when  plants  and  animals  were  yet  un- 
born, tells  us  that  when  the  ocean  deposited  it  upon  the 
shores  mountains  had  already  been  demolished  by  the 
waves.  The  slab  of  slate,  preserving  the  bones  or  mere- 
ly a  slight  impression  of  some  animal,  relates  the  history 
of  innumerable  generations  which  have  followed  one  an- 
other upon  the  surface  of  the  earth  in  the  never-ending 
battle  of  life ;  the  traces  of  coal  speak  to  us  of  immense 
forests,  each  one  of  which,  in  dying,  has  made  but  one 
thin  carboniferous  layer ;  the  white  chalk,  an  accumula- 
tion of  animalcula,  which  the  microscope  reveals  to  us, 
enables  us  to  take  part  in  the  work  of  multitudes  of  or- 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  PEAKS.  55 

ganisms  swarming  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea;  the  remains 
of  every  species  show  us  the  water  of  the  rains,  the  snow, 
the  glaciers,  the  torrents  sweeping  down  the  mountains 
in  former  times  just  as  they  do  at  the  present  day,  and 
from  age  to  age  changing  the  scene  of  their  activity. 

At  the  thought  of  all  these  revolutions,  these  inces- 
sant transformations,  this  continued  series  of  phenome- 
na produced  in  the  mountain,  of  the  part  it  plays  in  the 
general  life  of  the  earth  and  in  the  history  of  mankind, 
we  comprehend  the  first  poets,  who,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Pamir  or  Bolor,  related  those  myths  whence  all  others 
are  derived.  They  tell  us  that  the  mountain  is  a  cre- 
ator. It  is  the  mountain  that  pours  into  the  plains  the 
fertilizing  waters,  and  sends  them  the  nourishing  mud. 
The  mountain  it  is  that,  with  the  sun's  aid,  brings  to  life 
the  plants,  animals,  and  man  ;  it  is  the  mountain  which 
decks  the  desert  with  flowers  and  sows  it  with  happy 
cities.  According  to  an  ancient  Hellenic  legend,  it  was 
Eros  who  caused  the  mountains  to  rise  up  and  modelled 
the  earth — that  god  of  everlasting  youth,  the  first-born 
of  Chaos ;  that  nature  which  renews  itself  unceasingly, 
the  god  of  eternal  love. 


56  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LANDSLIPS. 

NOT  only  is  the  mountain  being  incessantly  trans- 
formed into  plains  by  the  erosions  which  the  rainsj  the 
frosts,  the  slippery  snow,  the  avalanches,  cause  it  to  un- 
dergo, but  even  many  fragments  break  away  with  a  vio- 
lent and  sudden  fall.  Similar  catastrophes  are  frequent 
in  those  portions  of  the  mountain  in  which  the  erect  or 
overhanging  strata  are  widely  separated  from  one  an- 
other by  materials  of  a  different  nature,  which  the  wa- 
ter can  wash  away  or  dissolve.  When  these  intermedi- 
ate substances  disappear,  the  strata,  deprived  of  support, 
must  sooner  or  later  subside  into  the  valley.  These 
fallen  debris  form  a  knoll,  a  hill,  or  even  a  secondary 
mountain  by  the  side  of  the  greater  escarpments. 

One  stately  peak,  which  I  loved  to  climb  on  account 
of  its  isolation  and  the  proud  beauty  of  its  crests,  had 
always  appeared  to  me,  like  the  great  summit  itself,  to 
be  an  independent  rock,  clinging,  by  its  deep  layers,  to 
the  subjacent  earth ;  yet  it  was  but  a  huge  piece  detached 
from  a  neighboring  mountain.  I  recognized  this,  one 
day,  from  the  position  of  the  strata  and  from  the  appear- 
ance of  the  marks  still  visible  on  the  broken  parts  of  the 
two  corresponding  walls.  The  mass  which  had  fallen 
down,  and  now  bore  hamlets  and  fields,  woods  and  past- 


LANDSLIPS.  57 

ures,  had  only  needed,  after  the  rupture,  to  pivot  its  base 
and  turn  over  upon  itself.  One  of  its  faces  had  been 
buried  in  the  soil,  while  on  the  other  side  it  had  been 
partially  uprooted.  In  its  fall  it  had  closed  up  the  out- 
let of  an  entire  valley,  and  the  torrent,  formerly  flowing 
peacefully  in  the  bottom,  had  been  obliged  to  transform 
itself  into  a  lake,  in  order  to  fill  up  the  valley  in  which 
it  was  imprisoned,  and  whence  it  descends  once  more, 
at  this  very  time,  by  a  succession  of  rapids  and  cascades. 
No  doubt  these  changes  took  place  before  the  country 
was  inhabited,  for  the  tradition  of  the  event  has  not  been 
preserved.  It  is  geology  that  teaches  the  peasant  the 
history  of  his  own  mountain. 

As  to  the  landslips  of  minor  importance,  the  fall  of 
rocks,  which,  without  sensibly  changing  the  aspect  of 
the  country,  none  the  less  lay  waste  the  pastures  and 
demolish  the  villages  with  their  inhabitants,  the  moun- 
taineers do  not  need  us  to  describe  them;  unhappily, 
they  have  too  often  witnessed  these  terrible  occurrences. 
Ordinarily,  they  receive  a  warning  some  short  time  be- 
fore. That  part  which  has  been  pushed  out  of  the  inte- 
rior of  the  mountain  in  labor  causes  the  stone  incessantly 
to  vibrate  from  the  top  to  the  very  foundations  of  the 
walls.  Little  half-loosened  fragments  first  become  de- 
tached, and  bound  down  the  whole  length  of  the  slopes. 
Heavier  masses,  carried  awray  in  their  turn,  follow  the 
lesser  stones  by  taking,  like  them,  great  leaps  into  space. 
Then  come  whole  lumps  of  rock;  everything  that  must 
give  way  breaks  the  bonds  which  attached  it  to  the  inte- 
rior skeleton  of  the  mountain,  and  with  one  blow  the 
fearful  hail-storm  of  boulders  crashes  down  upon  the 
troubled  plain.  The  hubbub  is  indescribable ;  it  is  like 


58  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

a  battle  among  a  hundred  tempests.  Even  in  broad  day- 
light the  dpbris  of  the  rocks,  mingled  with  the  dust,  the 
vegetable  mould,  the  fragments  of  plants,  totally  ob- 
scured the  sky ;  sometimes  evil-boding  flashes  of  light- 
ning, proceeding  from  the  rocks,  hurled  against  one  an- 
other, burst  through  this  gloom.  After  the  storm,  when 
the  mountain  has  ceased  to  dash  its  severed  rocks  into 
the  plain,  when  the  atmosphere  has  cleared  again,  the 
inhabitants  -of  the  country  which  is  spared  come  to  con- 
template the  disaster.  Cottages  and  gardens,  enclosures 
and  pastures,  have  disappeared  beneath  the  hideous  chaos 
of  stones ;  there,  too,  are  friends,  relatives,  sleeping  their 
last  sleep.  The  mountaineers  have  told  me  that  in  their 
valley  one  village,  twice  destroyed  by  avalanches  of 
stones,  has  been  rebuilt  a  third  time  upon  the  same  site. 
The  inhabitants  would  gladly  have  fled  and  chosen  some 
larger  valley  for  their  dwelling,  but  no  neighboring  par- 
ish would  receive  or  give  up  any  ground  to  them.  They 
were  obliged  to  remain  beneath  the  menacing  overhang- 
ing rocks.  Every  evening  a  few  tolls  of  the  bell  remind 
them  of  the  terrors  of  the  past,  and  warn  them  of  the 
fate  that  may  perhaps  overtake  them  during  the  night. 

Numbers  of  fallen  rocks,  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
middle  of  the  fields,  have  a  terrible  legend  attached  to 
them,  but  some  few  others  are  also  shown  to  us  which 
have  missed  their  prey.  One  of  those  enormous  over- 
hanging blocks,  and  whose  base  was  rooted  in  the  ground 
on  every  side,  rises  up  by  the  side  of  the  road.  While 
admiring  its  superb  proportions,  its  mighty  mass,  the 
fineness  of  its  grain,  I  could  not  restrain  a  kind  of  dread. 
A  small  footpath,  diverging  from  the  road,  led  straight 
to  the  foot  of  a  formidable  stone.  Close  to  it  some  re- 


"THE  INHABITANTS  COME  TO  CONTEMPLATE  THE  DISASTER." 


LANDSLIPS.  59 

mains  of  earthenware  and  coal  were  heaped  up  at  its 
base,  a  garden  paling  stopped  abruptly  at  the  rock,  and 
borders  of  vegetables,  half  overgrown  by  weeds,  sur- 
rounded one  whole  side  of  the  enormous  mass. 

Who  had  selected  this  strange  spot  for  his  garden  and 
so  soon  abandoned  it?  I  understood  by  degrees.  The 
footpath,  the  accumulation  of  coal,  the  garden,  had  but 
lately  belonged  to  a  little  house,  now  crushed  beneabh 
the  rock.  During  the  night  of  the  downfall  a  man,  as  I 
learned  later,  was  sleeping  alone  in  that  house.  Start- 
ing up  out  of  his  sleep,  he  heard  the  noise  of  the  stone 
falling  from  crag  to  crag  down  the  mountain's  side,  and, 
seized  with  terror,  he  threw  himself  out  of  the  window, 
to  seek  shelter  behind  the  steep  bank  of  the  torrent. 
Hardly  had  he  rushed,  out  of  his  dwelling  before  the 
enormous  projectile  fell  upon  the  cottage,  burying  it 
some  yards  deep  in  the  ground  beneath.  After  his  fort- 
unate escape*  the  brave  man  rebuilt  his  cabin  ;  he  set  it 
up  confidently  at  the  foot  of  another  rock  which  had 
fallen  from  the  formidable  wall. 

In  many  mountain  valleys  the  defiles  where  torrents 
or  foot-tracks  with  difficulty  force  their  way  are  formed 
by  the  downfall  of  stones  called  clapiers,  lapiaz,  or  chaos. 
There  is  nothing  more  curious  than  the  confusion  of  these 
masses  mixed  up  in  an  endless  labyrinth.  Up  above,  on 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  the  color  and  shape  of  the 
rocks  still  enable  us  to  distinguish  the  spot  where  the 
downfall  began  ;  but  with  amazement  we  ask  ourselves 
how  a  place  of  such  apparently  small  dimensions  could 
discharge  a  similar  deluge  of  stones  into  the  valley.  In 
the  midst  of  these  strange  formidable  blocks,  the  travel- 
ler might  believe  himself  to  be  in  a  world  in  which  noth- 


(30  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

ing  reminded  him  of  the  known  planet,  of  the  smooth 
or  gently  undulated  surface.  Rocks  resembling  fantas- 
tic monuments  rise  up  here  and  there ;  they  resemble 
towers,  obelisks,  crenellated  archways,  shafts  of  columns, 
tombs  turned  upside-down  or  standing  erect.  One  sin- 
gle boulder,  forming  a  bridge,  conceals  the  torrent ;  we 
see  the  waters  rush  in  and  disappear  beneath  the  enor- 
mous arcade,  and  we  even  cease  to  hear  its  voice.  Amid 
these  monstrous  edifices  gigantic  forms  appear,  like  those 
of  the  fossilized  animals  whose  disconnected  bones  are 
sometimes  found  in  the  earth's  strata.  Mammoths,  mas- 
todons, giant  turtles,  winged  crocodiles — all  these  chimer- 
ical beings  swarm  in  the  terrible  chaos.  Thousands  of 
these  stones  are  piled  up  in  the  defile,  and  yet  one  single 
specimen  is  of  sufficient  dimensions  to  serve  as  a  quarry, 
and  to  supply  building  materials  for  whole  villages. 

These  da/piers,  which  I  behold  with  such  astonish- 
ment, and  amid  which  I  only  venture  hesitatingly,  are 
certainly  trifles  compared  with  some  mountain  landslips, 
whose  debris  covers  a  great  extent  of  country.  There  are 
mountainous  masses  whose  peaks  are  composed  of  com- 
pact heavy  rocks  resting  upon  friable  beds,  easily  washed 
away  by  water.  In  these  masses  the  downfall  of  stones 
is  a  normal  phenomenon,  as  would  be  avalanches  and 
rain.  The  people  are  always  looking  up  at  the  summits, 
to  see  if  the  slip  is  being  prepared.  In  a  region  not  very 
remote,  and  called  the  Country  of  Ruins,  are  two  moun- 
tains which,  according  to  the  tales  of  the  inhabitants, 
had  formerly  been  engaged  in  conflict  together.  The 
two  stone  giants,  becoming  animate,  are  said  to  have 
armed  themselves  with  their  own  rocks,  to  ruin  and  de- 
molish one  another.  They  did  not  succeed,  for  they  are 


LANDSLIPS.  61 

both  still  left  standing ;  but  one  can  imagine  the  prodig- 
ious heaps  of  rocks  which,  since  that  battle,  have  strewn 
the  plains  for  a  great  distance. 

Sometimes,  despite  his  weakness,  man  has  essayed  to 
imitate  the  mountains,  doing  so  in  order  to  crush  other 
men  like  himself.  It  was  especially  in  the  defiles,  in 
places  where  the  gorge  is  narrow  and  commanded  by 
steep  escarpments,  that  the  mountaineers  assembled  to 
roll  blocks  of  stone  upon  their  enemies'  heads.  Thus  the 
Basques,  hidden  behind  brushwood  upon  the  slopes  of 
the  mountain  of  Altabiscar,  awaited  the  French  army  be- 
longing to  the  Paladin  Roland,  who  was  to  penetrate  into 
the  narrow  pass  of  Roncesvalles.  When  the  columns  of 
foreign  soldiers,  like  a  long  serpent  gliding  into  a  crevice 
in  a  wall,  had  filled  the  defile,  a  cry  was  heard  and  a  hail- 
storm of  rocks  was  poured  down  upon  the  crowd  moving 
below.  The  stream  in  the  valley  was  swollen  with  the 
blood  flowing  from  the  crushed  bodies,  like  wine  from 
a  press ;  it  swept  away  the  human  corpses  and  bruised 
limbs  as  it  swept  away  stones  in  times  of  tempest.  All 
the  Frankish  warriors  perished,  mixed  up  together  in  a 
bleeding  mass.  The  spot  where  the  Paladin  Roland  died 
with  his  companions  is  still  shown  at  the  foot  of  Altabis- 
car ;  but  the  stones  beneath  which  his  army  was  crushed 
have  long  since  disappeared  under  a  carpet  of  heather 
and  furze. 

The  results  of  our  small  human  labors  are  trifles  com- 
pared with  the  natural  downfall  caused  by  the  action  of 
the  weather,  or  in  consequence  of  internal  upheavals  of 
the  mountains.  Even  after  long  centuries,  the  great  ava- 
lanches of  stones  present  such  a  scene  of  confusion  as  to 
leave  an  impression  of  horror  and  fright  on  our  minds. 


62  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

But  when  nature  has  ended  by  repairing  the  disaster,  the 
most  beautiful  spots  in  the  mountains  are  precisely  those  • 
where  the  escarpments  have  shaken  themselves  so  vio- 
lently as  to  scatter  the  rocks  to  their  very  base.  During 
the  course  of  ages  the  waters  have  done  their  work ;  they 
have  brought  clay,  tenuous  sand,  to  rebuild  their  beds  and 
to  form  a  layer  of  vegetable  mould  on  their  shores.  The 
torrents  have  by  degrees  cleared  their  course  by  arrang- 
ing or  displacing  the  stones  which  were  in  their  way ; 
this  monster  species  of  pavement,  formed  by  the  smallest 
rocks,  covered  itself  anew  with  turf  and  became  changed 
into  a  pasture  full  of  mounds  and  bristling  with  crags ; 
the  great  rocks  have  clothed  themselves  with  moss,  while 
here  and  there  they  are  grouped  in  picturesque  minia- 
ture mountains ;  clumps  of  trees  grow  beside  each  rocky 
projection,  and  spread  the  most  charming  groups  over  a 
country  which  was  already  so 'lovely.  Like  man's  coun- 
tenance, the  face  of  nature  changes  its  physiognomy ;  a 
frown  is  succeeded  by  a  smile. 


CLOUDS.  63 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CLOUDS. 

UPON  the  vast  globe,  the  mountain,  lofty  as  it  appears, 
is  but  a  single  rugosity,  smaller  in  proportion  than  would 
be  a  wart  upon  an  elephant's  body;  it  is  a  speck,  a  grain 
of  sand.  And  yet  that  projection,  so  diminutive  when 
compared  with  the  great  earth,  bathes  its  sides  and  crests 
in  aerial  regions  very  different  from  those  of  the  plains 
which  serve  as  the  people's  dwelling-place.  The  pedes- 
trian who,  in  the  space  of  a  few  hours,  ascends  from  the 
foot  of  the  rocks  to  their  summit  in  reality  makes  a  much 
greater  voyage,  one  much  more  fertile  in  contrasts,  than 
if  lie  spent  years  in  going  round  the  world,  across  seas 
and  the  lower  regions  of  continents. 

It  is  the  air  which  weighs  in  heavy  masses  upon  the 
ocean  and  countries  lying  at  a  trifling  elevation  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  and  in  the  heights  becomes  rarefied, 
growing  lighter  and  lighter.  Upon  the  earth  hundreds, 
and  even  thousands,  of  mountains  raise  their  crests  in  an 
atmosphere  whose  molecules  are  twice  as  scattered  as 
those  in  the  air  of  the  lower  regions.  Phenomena  of 
light,  heat,  climate,  vegetation,  all  are  changed  up  yon- 
der; the  air,  much  rarer,  easily  allows  the  rays  of  heat  to 
pass,  whether  descending  from  the  sun  or  rising  from  the 
earth.  When  the  orb  shines  in  a  clear  sky,  the  tempera- 


64  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

ture  rapidly  rises  upon  the  higher  slopes ;  but  the  mo- 
ment that  it  hides  itself,  the  elevated  portions  of  the 
mountain  immediately  become  colder ;  radiation  soon 
causes  them  to  lose  the  heat  they  had  received.  Cold, 
too,  almost  always  reigns  in  the  altitudes :  in  our  moun- 
tains it  averages  one  degree  colder  in  every  vertical  space 
of  two  hundred  yards. 

As  for  us,  poor  townspeople,  who  are  condemned  to  a 
tainted  atmosphere,  who  receive  into  our  organs  an  air 
laden  with  poisons  which  has  already  been  breathed  by 
multitudes  of  other  lungs,  what  astonishes  us  and  glad- 
dens us  most  when  we  wander  about  these  high  peaks  is 
the  marvellous  purity  of  the  air.  We  breathe  with  de- 
light, we  drink  in  the  breeze  blowing  around  us,  we  allow 
ourselves  to  become  intoxicated  with  it.  For  us  it  is  the 
ambrosia  talked  of  by  ancient  mythologies.  Far,  far 
away  at  our  feet  in  the  plain  lies  extended  a  foggy, 
dingy  spot  whereon  our  eyes  can  discern  nothing.  It  is 
the  great  city.  And  we  think  with  disgust  of  the  years 
during  which  we  have  been  obliged  to  live  beneath  that 
sheet  of  smoke,  dust,  and  impure  breath. 

What  a  contrast  between  that  view  of  the  plains  and 
the  aspect  of  the  mountain  when  the  summit  is  free  from 
mist  and  we  can  contemplate  it  from  afar,  beyond  the 
heavy  atmosphere  weighing  upon  the  lower  regions !  The 
sight  is  beautiful,  especially  when  the  rain  has  caused 
the  floating  particles  of  dust  to  fall  to  the  ground  and 
the  air  has,  so  to  say,  grown  young  again.  The  outline 
of  the  rocks  and  snow  stands  out  clearly  from  the  blue 
of  the  sky  ;  despite  the  enormous  distance,  the  mountain, 
blue  itself  as  the  aerial  depths,  is  portrayed  sharply 
against  the  sky,  with  all  its  reliefs  of  ridges  and  peaks ; 


CLOUDS.  65 

we  can  distinguish  the  dales,  ravines,  precipices ;  some- 
times even  in  a  black  speck  moving  slowly  over  the  snow 
we  can,  with  the  aid  of  a  telescope,  recognize  a  friend 
climbing  tip  the  peak.  Of  an  evening  after  the  sun  has 
gone  to  rest,  the  pyramid  displays  itself  at  once  in  all  the 
purity  and  splendor  of  its  beauty.  The  rest  of  the  world 
lies  in  shadow,  gray  twilight  veils  the  horizon  of  the 
plains;  the  entrance  to  the  valleys  has  already  become 
blackened  by  night.  But  yonder,  up  above,  all  is  light 
and  joyousness.  The  snow,  which  still  faces  the  sun,  re- 
flects its  rosy  rays ;  it  glistens,  and  their  brightness  ap- 
pears all  the  more  vivid  that  the  shadow,  which  is  slowly 
rising,  successively  takes  possession  of  the  slopes  and  cov- 
ers them  as  if  with  some  black  material.  Finally,  the 
peak  alone  is  high  enough  to  perceive  the  sun  beyond  the 
bend  of  the  earth:  it  is  illuminated  as  if  it  were  a  spark ; 
it  might  be  taken  for  one  of  those  huge  diamonds  which, 
according  to  the  Hindoo  legends,  flashed  at  the  summit 
of  the  divine  mountains.  But  suddenly  the  flame  has 
disappeared,  it  has  vanished  into  space.  Yet  we  do  not 
cease  to  look ;  the  sun's  reflection  is  succeeded  by  the 
empurpled  mists  on  the  horizon.  The  mountain  becomes 
illuminated  once  more,  but  with  a  softer  brilliancy.  The 
hard  rock  no  longer  appears  to  exist  beneath  its  apparel 
of  rays ;  only  a  mirage  remains,  an  aerial  light ;  we  might 
imagine  the  splendid  mountain  to  have  been  detached 
from  the  earth  and  to  be  floating  in  the  pure  skies. 

Thus  the  rarity  of  the  air  in  the  upper  regions  con- 
tributes to  the  beauty  of  the  peaks  by  preventing  the 
impurities  of  the  lower  atmosphere  reaching  the  sum- 
mits ;  but  it  also  compels  the  invisible  vapors  rising  from 
the  sea  and  plains  to  become  condensed  and  to  attach 


($6  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

themselves  to  the  clouds,  to  the  sides  of  the  mountain. 
Ordinarily  the  vaporized  water,  suspended  in  the  lower 
zones  of  the  air,  is  not  found  in  sufficiently  large  quanti- 
ties immediately  to  change  into  cloudlets  and  fall  down 
again  as  rain  ;  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  floats  preserves 
it  in  a  state  of  invisible  gas.  But  the  layer  of  air  ascend- 
ing to  the  sky,  carrying  away  its  vapors,  will  gradually 
become  colder,  and  its  water, condensed  into  distinct  mole- 
cules, will  soon  reveal  itself.  It  is  first  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible cloudlet,  a  white  flake  in  the  blue  sky  ;  but  other 
flakes  are  added  to  this  one :  now  it  is  a  veil  through 
whose  rents  our  glances  can  pierce  into  the  depths  of 
space ;  at  last  it  becomes  a  dense  mass,  stretching  itself 
out  as  curtains,  or  piling  itself  up  into  pyramids.  These 
are  the  clouds  which  rise  upon  the  horizon  in  the  form 
of  real  mountains.  Their  crests  and  domes,  their  snow, 
their  resplendent  ice,  their  shadowy  ravines,  their  preci- 
pices— the  whole  picture  is  displayed  with  perfect  preci- 
sion. Only  the  vapor  mountains  are  floating  and  fugi- 
tive ;  one  current  of  air  has  formed,  another  current  can 
rend  and  dissolve,  them.  Their  duration  is  hardly  one 
of  hours,  while  that  of  mountains  of  stones  lasts  for  mill- 
ions of  years ;  but  is  the  difference  in  reality  so  great  ? 
Relatively  to  the  world's  existence,  clouds  and  mountains 
are  equally  the  phenomena  of  a  day.  Minutes  and  cen- 
turies become  confounded,  when  they  are  ingulfed  in  the 
abyss  of  time. 

Clouds  are  particularly  fond  of  gathering  round  the 
rocks  which  rise  up  in  the  open  sky.  They  are  attract- 
ed to  the  stone  by  an  electricity  the  very  opposite  of 
their  own ;  the  storms  pursued  into  space  by  the  wind, 
dash  up  against  the  sides  of  mountains,  great  barriers 


CLOUDS.  67 

placed  athwart  their  course.  Others,  again,  invisible  in 
the  tepid  air,  do  not  reveal  themselves  until  they  come 
in  contact  with  the  cold  stones  or  snow ;  it  is  the  moun- 
tain that  condenses  the  vapors  and  drives  them  out  of 
the  air,  so  to  say.  How  many  times,  while  contemplat- 
ing the  peak  or  some  prominent  cliff,  have  I  seen  the 
down  of  growing  clouds  accumulate  around  the  frozen 
point!  Smoke  arises  similar  to  that  which  ascends  from 
a  crater;  soon  every  peak  is  enveloped  in  it,  and  the 
mountain  ends  by  being  encircled  with  a  turban  of 
clouds  which  it  has  woven  for  itself  in  the  transparent 
atmosphere.  Invisible  hands,  it  seems,  work  at  the  for- 
mation of  storms  and  the  downfall  of  rain.  When  the 
denizens  of  plains  see  the  mountain  disappear  in  a  mass 
of  clouds,  they  understand,  from  the  manner  in  which 
the  giant  decks  his  head,  what  sort  of  festival  he  is  pre- 
paring for  them.  When  two  blasts  of  air  chance  to 
meet  at  this  point,  the  one  scorching,  the  other  cold,  the 
cloud  thus  formed  suddenly  raises  itself  up  and  whirls 
round  in  the  sky:  the  mountain  is  a  volcano,  and  the 
vapor  escapes  from  it  incessantly,  as  if  in  fury,  to  go  and 
coil  itself  up  again  far  away  in  the  sky  in  an  immense 
curve. 

Detached  clouds  scatter  themselves  freely  in  the  sky ; 
they  meet  again,  comb  or  ravel  themselves  out  in  the 
wind,  extend  or  fly  away,  and  ascend  until  they  reach 
the  upper  atmosphere,  far  away  above  the  highest  peaks 
of  the  world.  The  diversity  of  their  forms  is  much 
greater  than  that  of  those  clouds  which  encircle  the 
summits  of  the  mountain.  Nevertheless,  these,  too,  pre- 
sent an  equally  singular  mobility  of  appearance.  At 
one  time  they  are  isolated  clouds,  displaced  by  great 


68  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

patches  of  cold  air ;  then  they  may  be  seen  winding  like 
a  serpent,  as  they  creep  through  the  ravines  or  pursue 
their  course  along  the  ridges,  hanging  like  fringes  on 
the  sharp  rocks.  At  another  time  they  are  great  shad- 
ows concealing  the  whole  of  a  mountain  slope  at  once ; 
through  their  dense  mass,  which  increases  or  diminishes, 
moves  away  or  is  torn  up,  we  can  from  time  to  time  dis- 
tinguish the  well-known  peak,  all  the  more  superb  in 
appearance,  in  proportion  as  it  seems  to  live  and  move 
among  the  revolving  vapors.  At  other  times  the  aerial 
layers,  superposed  and  of  different  temperature,  are  as 
perfectly  horizontal  and  distinct  as  geological  strata  ; 
the  clouds  which  we  see  spring  up  there  are  of  an  anal- 
ogous form;  they  are  disposed  in  regular  and  parallel 
belts,  here  hiding  forests,  there  pastures,  snow  and  rocks, 
or  semi -veiling  them  as  if  with  a  transparent  scarf. 
Sometimes  again  the  peaks,  the  higher  slopes,  the  whole 
of  the  lofty  mountain  is  lost  in  the  heavy  mass  of 
clouds,  as  if  it  were  a  gray  or  black  sky  that  is  lowered 
to  the  earth ;  the  mountain  retreats  or  approaches  us, 
according  to  the  play  of  the  vapors  as  they  diminish  or 
become  intensified.  Suddenly  all  disappears  from  base 
to  summit ;  the  mountain  is  entirely  lost  in  the  fog ; 
then  the  storm  comes  down  from  the  peaks,  it  lashes  the 
sea  of  heavy  vapors,  and  we  see  the  giant  appear  once 
more,  "gloomy,  sorrowful,  amid  the  eternal  flight  of  the 
clouds." 


"WE   SEE   THE    GIANT   APPEAR   ONCE    MORE." 


FOGS  AND  STORMS,  69 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FOGS    AND    STORMS. 

WE  find  ourselves  in  a  new  world,  both  fantastic  and 
formidable,  when  we  wander  about  the  mountain  in  the 
midst  of  a  mist.  Even  when  following  a  well-worn 
foot-track  upon  easy  slopes,  we  feel  a  certain  dread  on 
beholding  the  surrounding  forms,  whose  uncertain  out- 
lines seem  to  oscillate  in  the  fog,  which  one  moment 
grows  dense  and  the  next  becomes  a  little  lighter. 

It  is  necessary  to  know  nature  very  well  not  to  feel 
at  all  uneasy  when  we  find  ourselves  taken  captive  by  a 
fog ;  the  least  object  assumes  immense,  infinite  propor- 
tions. Something  vague  and  black  appears  to  be  advan- 
cing upon  us  as  if  to  seize  us.  Is  it  a  branch  or  even  a 
tree  ?  It  is  but  a  tuft  of  grass.  A  circle  of  ropes  bars 
your  way ;  it  is  a  simple  spider's  web !  One  day  when 
the  fog  was  not  quite  so  dense  and  the  sun's  rays,  trans- 
mitted through  the  mists,  shed  an  indistinct  light,  I 
stopped,  tilled  with  amazement  and  admiration,  on  be- 
holding a  gigantic  tree  twisting  its  arms  about  like  an 
athlete  at  the  summit  of  a  peak.  Never  had  I  had  the 
good-fortune  to  see  a  stronger  tree  or  one  better  situ- 
ated for  doing  heroic  battle  with  the  tempest.  I  con- 
templated it  for  a  long  time;  but  by  degrees  I  saw  it 
apparently  approaching  me,  and  at  the  same  time  be- 

4* 


7Q  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

coming  smaller.  When  the  triumphant  sun  had  dis- 
persed the  mist,  the  superb  trunk  proved  to  be  nothing 
but  a  poor  little  tree,  growing  in  the  fissure  of  a  neigh- 
boring rock. 

The  traveller  who  is  lost,  has  gone  astray  in  the  fog, 
amid  precipices  and  torrents,  finds  himself  in  a  truly 
terrible  position :  danger  or  death  meets  him  on  every 
side.  He  must  walk,  and  walk  quickly,  in  order  as  fast 
as  possible  to  reach  the  level  ground  of  the  valley  or 
the  gentle  slopes  of  the  pastures,  and  find  some  safety- 
bringing  footpath ;  but,  in  the  uncertain  light,  nothing 
serves  as  a  guide,  and  everything  appears  to  be  an  ob- 
stacle. On  one  side  the  ground  recedes;  he  imagines 
himself  to  be  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  On  the  other 
a  rock  rises  up,  its  walls  appear  to  be  inaccessible.  In 
order  to  avoid  the  abyss,  he  tries  to  scale  the  abrupt 
sides  of  the  rock ;  he  places  his  foot  upon  some  uneven 
portion  of  the  stone  and  jumps  from  point  to  point ; 
soon  he  seems  to  be  suspended  in  mid -air  between 
heaven  and  earth.  At  last  he  reaches  the  ridge,  but  be- 
hind the  first  crag,  see,  another  rises  up  with  undecided 
and  shifting  outlines.  The  trees,  the  shrubs,  growing 
upon  the  escarpments,  dart  their  branches  out  into  the 
mist  in  a  menacing  fashion ;  .sometimes  even  nothing 
can  be  seen  but  a  black  mass  winding  its  serpent-like 
way  in  the  gray  shadow :  it  is  a  branch  whose  trunk  re- 
mains invisible.  The  wanderer's  face  is  dripping  with 
fine  rain  ;  the  tufts  of  grass,  the  heather,  are  so  many 
reservoirs  of  frozen  water,  in  which  he  gets  quite  .as  wet 
as  if  he  were  crossing  through  a  lake.  His  limbs  be- 
come stiff,  his  steps  uncertain ;  he  runs  the  risk  of  slip- 
ping upon  the  grass  or  damp  rock,  and  of  rolling  ,d 


FOGS  AND  STORMS.  71 

the  precipice.  Terrible  noises  ascend  from  below  and 
seetn  to  foretell  a  fatal  end ;  he  hears  the  fall  of  stones 
roiling  down,  of  rain-laden  branches  creaking  on  their 
stems,  the  dull  thunder  of  the  cascade  and  the  solemn 
breaking  of  the  waves  upon  the  shores  of  the  lake. 
With  horror  he  sees  the  fog  become  charged  with  the 
darkness  of  twilight,  and  he  thinks  of  the  terrible  alter- 
native of  death  by  the  uprooting  of  rocks  or  by  being 
frozen  in  the  cold. 

In  many  climates,  the  impression  of  astonishment, 
even  of  horror,  which  the  mountains  leave  upon  our 
minds  is  owing  to  the  fact  of  their  being  perpetually 
surrounded  with  mist.  Such  a  mountain  in  Scotland 
or  Norway  appears  formidable,  whereas  in  reality  it  is 
much  less  high  than  many  other  peaks  in  the  world. 
We  have  often  seen  them  veiled  in  vapors,  then  partial- 
ly revealed  and  hidden  once  more,  travelling,  so  to  say, 
into  the  centre  of  the  sky,  appearing  to  retreat  that  they 
may  suddenly  approach  us  again  ;  growing  lower  when 
the  sun  clearly  lights  up  their  outlines,  then,  again,  in- 
creasing when  they  become  fringed  with  mists.  All 
these  changing  aspects,  these  slow  or  rapid  transforma- 
tions, of  the  mountain  make  it  vaguely  resemble  a  pro- 
digious giant  waving  his  head  above  the  clouds.  Very 
different  from  the  immovable  summits,  with  their  regular 
outlines,  which  are  bathed  in  the  pure  light  of  Egypt's 
sky  are  those  mountains  sung  by  the  poet  Ossian :  they 
look  at  you  ;  they  sometimes  smile,  sometimes  frown,  but 
they  live  in  your  life,  they  feel  with  you ;  at  least  so  we 
believe,  and  the  poet  who  sings  them  invests  them  with 
a  human  soul. 

Beautiful  on  account  of  the  vapors  encircling  it,  when 


72  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

seen  from  below  through  a 'pure  atmosphere,  the  moun- 
tain is  not  the  less  so  for  him  who  contemplates  it  from 
above,  especially  of  a  morning  when  the  peak  itself  is 
plunged  into  the  sky,  and  its  base  is  surrounded  by  a  sea 
of  clouds.  It  is,  indeed,  a  veritable  ocean  which  extends 
on  every  side  as  far  as  we  can  see.  The  white  billows 
of  mist  roll  away  upon  the  surface  of  these  waters,  not 
with  the  regularity  of  liquid  waves,  but  in  a  majestic 
disorder  in  which  our  gaze  loses  itself.  Here  we  see 
them  puffed  out,  swollen  into  towers  of  smoke,  then  dis- 
perse in  snow-like  flakes,  disappearing  into  space.  Yon- 
der, on  the  contrary,  they  are  hollowed  out  into  valleys 
filled  with  shadows.  In  other  parts  it  is  one  continued 
evolution,  a  movement  of  waves  pursuing  and  carrying 
one  another  away  in  curiously  contorted  rings.  Some- 
times the  sheet  of  vapors  is  tolerably  smooth ;  the  level 
of  the  waves  of  mist  remains  at  an  almost  uniform  ele- 
vation all  round  the  circumference  of  the  rocks  which 
jut  out  in  points;  in  many  places  the  summits  of  iso- 
lated little  hills  rise  up  above  the  fog  like  islands  or 
reefs.  At  other  times  the  dusky  ocean  divides  itself 
into  distinct  seas,  here  and  there  allowing  the  bottoms 
of  the  valleys  to  be  seen,  like  a  lower  world  possessing 
none  of  the  soft  serenity  of  the  peaks.  The  sun  ob- 
liquely lights  up  all  the  volutes  of  mist  soaring  above 
the  great  sea,  the  roseate,  purple,  golden  tints,  mingled 
with  the  pure  white,  impart  infinite  variety  to  the  aspect 
of  the  floating  expanse.  The  shadow  of  the  mountains 
is  projected  far  away  upon  the  vapors,  and  changes  in- 
cessantly with  the  course  of  the  sun.  In  astonishment 
the  spectator  beholds  his  own  shadow  reproduced  upon 
the  sheet  of  vapor,  and  sometimes  with  a  giant's  propor- 


FOGS  AND  STORMS.  73 

tions.  He  might  believe  that  he  saw  a  spectral  mon- 
ster, which  he  causes  to  move  at  his  will,  as  he  hends, 
walks,  stirs  his  arms. 

Certain  mountains  rising  from  the  bosom  of  the  Blue 
Sea  of  the  trade-winds  are  almost  always  encircled  half- 
way up  by  a  robe  of  mist,  which  almost  invariably  con- 
ceals the  picture  of  the  great  azure  plain  from  the  trav- 
eller who  has  reached  the  peak ;  but  around  the  summit, 
on  whose  pastures  I  am  wandering,  the  sheets  of  vapor 
rise  and  descend,  change  and  melt  away,  as  if  by  chance ; 
they  are  phenomena  which  possess  no  permanent  pecu- 
liarities. After  hours  or  days  of  obscurity,  the  sun  ends 
in  piercing  the  mass  of  fog,  rends  it  asunder,  scatters  it 
in  fragments,  vaporizes  them  in  the  air,  and  soon  the 
earth  beneath,  which  found  itself  deprived  of  the  soft 
radiance,  becomes  illuminated  afresh  by  the  quickening 
light.  But  it  also  happens  that  the  fogs  become  denser, 
gather  in  thick  and  whirling  clouds.  These  attract,  then 
repel  one  another;  electricity  accumulates  in  the  in- 
creasing vapors ;  a  storm  bursts,  and  the  lower  world  is 
lost  beneath  the  tumult  of  the  tempest. 

Once  let  loose,  the  storm  does  not  always  rise  to  the 
top  of  the  heights  which  command  it ;  it  frequently  re- 
mains in  the  lower  zones  of  the  atmosphere  wherein  it 
arises,  and  the  spectator,  seated  tranquilly  upon  the  dry 
turf  of  the  upper,  illuminated  pastures,  can  see  the  hos- 
tile clouds  come  into  collision,  and  drown  everything  in 
fury.  It  is  both  a  magnificent  and  terrible  scene.  Lurid 
light  escapes  from  these  seething  masses ;  copper-colored 
reflections,  violet  tints,  impart  to  the  heaped-up  vapors 
the  appearance  of  an  immense  furnace  of  fusing  metal ; 
the  earth  might  have  opened,  allowing  an  ocean  of  lava 


74  THE   HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

to  stream  out  of  its  bosom.  The  lightning  flashing  from 
cloud  to  cloud,  in  the  depths  of  chaos,  vibrates  like  ser- 
pents of  fire.  The  rending  of  the  air,  reverberated  by 
the  mountain's  echoes,  is  prolonged  in  endless  rumblings; 
every  rock  seems  simultaneously  to  send  forth  its  thun- 
der. At  the  same  time,  we  hear  a  dull  sound,  ascending 
from  the  lower  country  through  the  whirling  clouds. 
It  is  the  downpour  of  rain  or  hail ;  it  is  the  noise  of 
trees  crashing,  of  rocks  splitting,  of  avalanches  of  stones 
rolling  down,  of  torrents  swelling  and  roaring,  as  they 
destroy  their  banks ;  but  all  these  various  noises  become 
confused  as  they  ascend  towards  the  serene  calm  moun- 
tain. There  they  are  but  a  plaint,  a  sigh,  rising  from 
the  plain  wherein  man  dwells. 

One  day,  when  sitting  upon  a  tranquil  peak,  in  the 
quiet  of  the  skies,  I  saw  a  storm  contort  itself  in  fury  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain ;  I  could  not  resist  that  sum- 
mons which  seemed  to  reach  me  from  the  world  of  hu- 
mankind. I  descended  to  bury  myself  in  the  black  mass 
of  revolving  vapors ;  I  plunged,  so  to  say,  into  the  midst 
of  the  thunder,  beneath  a  sheet  of  lightning  in  the  tur- 
bulence of  the  rain  and  hail.  Descending  by  a  footpath 
transformed  into  a  rivulet,  I  leaped  from  stone  to  stone. 
Excited  by  the  fury  of  the  elements,  by  the  bursting  of 
the  thunder-claps,  by  the  rushing  of  the  waters,  the  roar 
of  shaken  trees,  I  ran  along  in  frenzied  delight.  When 
I  reached  the  cabin  in  which  I  found  a  fire,  bread,  dry 
clothes,  all  the  sweets  of  the  mountaineer's  kindly  hos- 
pitality, I  almost  regretted  the  stirring  ecstasy  which  I 
had  so  lately  enjoyed  outside.  I  felt  that  up  above,  in 
the  wind  and  rain,  I  had  taken  part  in  the  tempest,  and 
that  for  a  few  hours  my  conscious  individuality  had  been 
mixed  up  with  the  blind  elements. 


SNOW.  75 


CHAPTER  X. 
SNOW. 

"WHITE,  dazzling,  snowy,"  such  is  almost  always  the 
original  meaning  of  all  the  names  given  to  the  high 
mountains  by  the  people  who  have  succeeded  one  another 
at  their  base.  When  raising  their  eyes  to  the  summits, 
they  perceive,  above  the  clouds,  the  sparkling  whiteness 
of  snow  and  ice ;  and  their  admiration  is  all  the  greater 
that  the  lower  countries,  with  the  uniform  brown  tint 
of  their  soil,  present  so  striking  a  contrast  to  the  white 
peaks.  It  is  especially  in  summer,  when  the  scorching 
dust  rises  from  the  roads,  and  the  tired  travellers  stop 
beneath  the  shade,  that  they  love  to  carry  their  gaze  up 
to  the  frozen  masses,  resplendent  as  slabs  of  silver  in  the 
solar  rays.  At  night  a  soft  reflection,  like  that  of  a  dis- 
tant world,  reveals  the  snow  lying  high  upon  the  moun- 
tain. 

The  middle  slopes,  the  lower  points,  are  frequently 
covered  with  beds  of  snow.  Even  towards  the  end  of 
summer,  when  the  torrents  have  carried  away  into  the 
plains  the  melted  water  of  the  avalanches,  \vhen  the 
trees  have  shaken  oil  the  burden  of  whiteness  which  had 
bowed  down  their  branches,  and  even  the  lowly  mosses, 
while  warming  the  surrounding  parts,  have  freed  them- 
selves from  the  flakes  enveloping  them,  a  sudden  chilling 


76  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

of  the  atmosphere  transforms  the  mountain's  vapors  into 
crystals.  On  the  preceding  evening  all  the  lower  chains 
of  the  mountains  and  the  alpine  pastures  had  been  per- 
fectly free  from  hoar-frost ;  the  brown  or  yellow  color  of 
the  bare  rocks,  the  green  of  the  forests  and  grass,  the 
purple  of  the  heather,  were  all  distinctly  visible. 

In  the  morning,  on  awaking,  the  white  robe  of  snow 
had  covered  everything,  down  to  the  farthest  points. 
Yet  this  garment  of  snow,  this  white  mantle  of  which 
the  poets  talk,  is  pierced,  rent  in  a  thousand  places.  The 
peaks  of  the  mountain  emerge  from  this  wrap,  and  the 
sombre  shadows  of  the  rocks,  contrasting  with  the  white- 
ness, throw  into  relief  the  design  of  the  escarpments 
with  all  the  greater  distinctness.  The  flakes  have  accu- 
mulated in  thick  drifts  in  the  deep  ravines ;  on  the  sud- 
den slopes  they  have  lightly  broidered  the  fissures,  like 
a  delicate  lace  veil;  on  the  abrupt  declivities  they  only 
show  themselves  here  and  there  in  brilliant  spots.  Every 
dip  in  the  mountain  is  marked  out  from  afar  in  its  true 
form  by  the  brilliant  mould  of  snow  which  fills  it;  every 
jutting  rock  reveals  its  protuberance  and  irregularities 
of  surface  by  the  snowy  couches  of  various  depths,  alter- 
nating with  the  nakedness  of  the  rock.  Where  the  lat- 
ter is  formed  of  regular  strata,  the  snow  draws  the  lines 
of  division  in  the  neatest  possible  manner.  It  rests  upon 
the  cornices  and  detaches  itself  from  the  sides  of  the 
landslips.  Across  every  accident  of  the  ground,  whether 
protruding  or  receding,  we  see  the  lines  of  strata  contin-. 
ued  with  surprising  regularity  over  an  extent  of  several 
miles ;  they  look  like  terraces  superposed  by  the  hand  of 
some  giant  architect. 

All  the  same,  this  transient  summer  snow,  enveloping 


sxow.  77 

the  mountain  like  a  veil,  and  which,  far  from  concealing 
its  form,  on  the  contrary  reveals  it  in  its  smallest  details, 
is,  so  to  say,  the  coquetry  of  nature.  It  soon  disappears 
from  the  lower  hills  and  nearest  mountains;  each  day 
the  sun's  rays  force  the  limits  to  rise  a  little  higher  tow- 
ards the  summits ;  in  fine  weather  even  our  glances  can 
from  hour  to  hour  follow  the  progress  of  the  dissolution. 
Each  ravine,  half-way  up,  intersecting  the  sides  of  the 
mountains,  presents  one  slope  upon  which  the  midday 
sun  freely  shines,  already  divested  of  the  snow,  and  an- 
other of  dazzling  whiteness,  which  is  turned  towards  the 
horizon  of  the  north.  Then,  in  time,  that  declivity  also 
frees  its  turf  and  pastures ;  nothing  more  remains  of  the 
summer  fall  of  snow,  but  a  small  number  of  pools  grad- 
ually contracting,  and  of  traces  of  the  miniature  ava- 
lanches which  filled  the  crevices  of  the  gorges.  These 
puddles  mix  in  among  the  earth  and  boulders,  and  the 
streamlet  passing  by  carries  away  drop  by  drop  the 
muddy  debris. 

This  snow,  lasting  a  few  da}Ts,  is  charming  to  behold. 
We  love  to  follow  with  our  glance  the  changing  orna- 
mentation; indeed,  it  hardly  shows  itself  save  to  disap- 
pear immediately.  In  order  to  contemplate  snow  under 
its  true  aspect,  and  to  understand  it  in  its  work  as  one  of 
nature's  agents,  we  should  see  it  in  winter  during  the  se- 
vere cold  season.  Then  all  is  covered  with  enormous 
layers  of  water  crystallized  into  spikes  and  flakes ;  the 
mountain,  its  lower  ridge,  and  the  hills  at  its  base  no 
longer  display  themselves  in  their  true  form. 

The  dense  mass  concealing  them  obliterates  their  de- 
sign, and  imparts  new  outlines  to  them.  In  the  place 
of  points  jutting  out,  indentations,  jagged  lines  cut  in 


78  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

their  outlines,  the  mountain's  slopes  now  sweep  down  in 
charming  undulations,  in  boldly  designed  but  yet  sinu- 
ous form.  Just  as  water,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
gravity,  finds  its  level,  enabling  it  to 'spread  out  on  a  hor- 
izontal surface,  so  does  the  snow,  obeying  its  own  laws, 
deposit  itself  in  layers  on  the  rounded  knolls.  The  wind, 
driving  it  up  as  it  circles  round,  first  obliges  it  to  fill 
up  the  hollows,  then  soften  all  the  angles,  and  spread  its 
cover  over  every  crag ;  to  the  stern,  rugged,  wild  moun- 
tain, a  second  has  succeeded,  with  clear,  softened  outlines 
and  majestic  brow.  But,  in  spite  of  the  suave  softness 
of  its  lines,  the  giant  is  none  the  less  formidable  in  ap- 
pearance. Escarpments,  perpendicular  rocks  upon  which 
the  snow  cannot  lie,  rise  up  above  immense  slopes  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  and  by  contrast  their  walls  appear 
quite  black.  We  feel  overcome  with  alarm  at  the  sight 
of  these  prodigious  walls  standing  out  above  the  snow 
like  cliffs  of  coal  on  the  shores  of  a  polar*  sea. 

By  this  transformation  the  plains,  even  more  than  the 
protuberances  of  the  mountains,  have  altered  their  as- 
pect. The  snow,  falling  on  every  side,  has  filled  up  the 
cavities,  levelled  the  hollows,  caused  all  slighter  accidents 
of  the  ground  to  disappear.  Torrents,  cascades,  have 
been  covered  up ;  everything  is  frozen,  everything  rests 
beneath  the  vast  winding-sheet.  Even  the  lakes  are  bur- 
ied ;  the  ice  on  their  surface  bears  enormous  beds  of 
snow,  and  frequently  it  becomes  impossible  to  know 
where  the  basins  are  situated ;  a  fissure  may  permit  us 
to  see  the  surface  of  the  lake  lying  tranquil,  black,  void 
of  any  reflections,  at  the  bottom  of  a  gulf :  it  looks  like 
a  well,  a  fathomless  abyss. 

Below  the  great  summits  and  upper  amphitheatres, 


SNOW.  79 

where  the  snow  is  piled  up  in  mounds  high  as  houses, 
the  pine  forests  stand  out  here  and  there,  but  only  one 
half  of  them  is  visible.  Upon  each  of  their  extended 
branches  the  trees  bear  as  heavy  a  load  as  they  can  sup- 
port without  breaking  ;  the  confusion  of  boughs  together 
forms  arches  upon  which  the  accumulation  of  snowy 
crystals  is  grouped  in  unequal  cupolas ;  some  rebellious 
trunks  alone  escape  from  the  icy  prison,  and  shoot  their 
dark-green,  almost  black,  arrows  into  the  free  air,  each 
one  bearing  at  its  extremity  a  heavy  lump  of  snow. 
When  the  wind  whistles  through  these  stems,  fragments 
of  the  frozen  snow  fall  down  with  a  metallic  sound ;  a 
general  movement  of  vibration  stirs  the  hidden  forest 
and  the  glistening  roof  covering  it :  sometimes  a  rupture 
takes  place,  an  avalanche  rolls  down  inside,  a  gaping 
chasm  is  left,  until  a  fresh  storm  has  masked  it  beneath 
a  bridge  of  snow.  What  would  be  the  fate  of  the  trav- 
eller who  had  lost  his  way  in  the  winter  in  such  a  forest — 
one  through  which  he  could  walk  where  he  liked  in  the 
summer,  along  the  short  grass,  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
mighty  trees  ?  At  each  step  he  is  liable  to  tumble  into 
an  abyss,  to  be  suffocated  beneath  the  fallen  snow. 

The  village  houses  in  the  valley  below  seem  to  be 
more  difficult  to  discern  than  the  forests  and  clumps  of 
trees.  The  roofs,  entirely  covered  with  a  bed  of  snow, 
beneath  them  the  bending  woodwork,  become  mixed  up 
with  the  surrounding  fields  of  whiteness ;  only  a  delicate 
bluish  smoke  reminds  us  that  beneath  this  white  shroud 
men  live  and  work.  Some  walls,  a  distant  steeple,  break 
the  monotony  of  the  valley;  besides,  in  that  part  the 
snow  has  been  more  storm-driven  than  where  it  is  far 
from  human  habitations:  the  wind,  whirling  round  the 


80'  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

dwellings,  has  raised  it  up  into  hillocks  and  barricades 
on  the  one  side ;  the  other  it  has  swept  almost  perfectly 
clean.  A  certain  disorder  in  nature  indicates  the  prox- 
imity of  man  ;  but  there,  as  elsewhere,  endless  peace  pre- 
vails ;  rarely  does  a  sound  come  to  disturb  the  silence  of 
death  reigning  over  mountain  and  valley. 

Yet  sometimes  it  is  necessary  that  man  and  the  other 
inhabitants  of  the  mountains  should  leave  their  dens  and 
disturb  nature's  great  repose.  Only  the  marmot,  hidden 
in  its  hole  under  the  deep  snow,  can  sleep  away  the  long 
months  of  winter,  and,  apparently  in  a  dead  state,  await 
spring's  coming  to  restore  freedom  to  the  brooks,  the 
grass,  and  flowers.  The  chamois,  less  fortunate,  driven 
from  the  lofty  heights  by  the  snow,  is  obliged  to  wander 
in  the  neighborhood  of  forests,  seeking  refuge  among  the 
crowded  trees,  consuming  their  bark  and  leaves.  Man, 
on  his  part,  must  leave  his  home  to  exchange  some  arti- 
cles of  produce,  buy  provisions,  fulfil  family  or  friend- 
ly engagements.  Then  it  is  necessary  to  sweep  away 
mounds  of  snow  accumulated  before  his  door,  and  labo- 
riously make  himself  a  pathway.  Once,  from  a  chalet 
built  upon  a  high  promontory,  I  saw  some  of  these  almost 
imperceptible  beings,  these  black  human  ants,  walking 
slowly  along  a  sort  of  track  between  two  walls  of  snow. 
Never  had  man  appeared  so  insignificant.  In  the  midst 
of  the  vast  extent  of  whiteness,  these  pedestrians  ap- 
peared absurdly  chimerical.  I  asked  myself  how  a  race 
composed  of  such  pygmies  had  been  able  to  accomplish 
all  the  great  historical  deeds,  and,  step  by  step,  to  carry 
out  that  which  to-day  we  term  civilization,  the  promise 
of  a  future  state  of  well-being  and  liberty. 

Yet  even  in  the   midst  of  these  formidable  winter 


SNOW.  81 

snows  man  has  been  able  to  cause  his  intelligence  and 
audacity  to  triumph  by  means  of  those  commercial  roads 
which  permit  him  freely  to  despatch  his  merchandise 
and  to  travel  in  almost  all  weathers.  The  chamois  has 
ceased  to  roam  about  the  summits,  and  numbers  of  birds, 
flying  above  the  peaks  in  summer,  have  prudently  de- 
scended into  the  milder  regions  of  the  plains.  But  man 
continues  to  traverse  those  roads,  ascending  from  gorge 
to  gorge,  from  chain  to  chain,  until  they  reach  a  gap  in 
the  crest  and  again  descend  the  other  slope.  During 
the  fine  season,  when  the  glad  torrents  bound  in  cascades 
by  the  roadside,  even  the  carriages  drawn  by  horses* 
with  their  tinkling  bells,  can  without  difficulty  scale 
the  incline  made  at  such  expense  up  the  escarpments. 
When  the  road  is  covered  with  snow,  it  is  necessary  to 
change  the  means  of  conveyance :  carts  and  carriages 
are  replaced  by  sleighs  that  glide  lightly  over  the  heaped- 
up  flakes.  The  ascent  of  the  mountains  is  no  less  rapid 
than  in  the  hottest  days  of  summer ;  as  to  the  descent,  it 
is  accomplished  at  a  dizzy  pace. 

It  is  in  travelling  thus  in  a  sleigh  over  the  necks  of 
the  mountains  that  we  can  become  thoroughly  acquaint- 
ed with  deep  snow.  The  light  wooden  conveyance  glides 
noiselessly  along;  we  no  longer  feel  the  jolting  of  the 
iron  upon  the  resisting  ground,  and  we  might  imagine 
ourselves  to  be  travelling  into  space,  as  if  borne  away  by 
some  spirit.  At  one  moment  we  round  the  bend  of  a 
ravine,  the  next  the  point  of  some  crag ;  we  pass  from 
the  bottom  of  a  chasm  to  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  in 
all  these  various  forms,  which  pass  successively  before 
our  gaze,  the  mountain  preserves  its  uniform  whiteness. 
If  the  sun  lights  up  the  snowy  surface,  we  see  it  glisten- 


82  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

ing  with  countless  diamonds;  should  the  sky  be  gray 
and  low,  the  elements  seem  to  merge  into  one  another ; 
fragments  of  clouds,  of  snowy  hillocks,  can  no  longer  be 
distinguished  from  each  other:  we  might  imagine  our- 
selves to  be  floating  in  infinite  space ;  we  cease  to  belong 
to  the  earth. 

And  how  much  more  we  enter  into  the  land  of  dreams 
when,  after  having  attained  the  culminating  point  of  the 
pass,  we  once  again  descend  the  opposite  slope,  carried 
round  turning  after  turning  with  alarming  rapidity !  At 
the  caravan's  departure,  when  the  last  sleigh  starts  the 
first  has  already  disappeared  behind  a  projection  in  the 
gnlf.  We  see  it,  then  it  disappears  again ;  we  perceive 
it  once  more,  to  be  lost  anew.  We  plunge  into  a  dizzy 
abyss  wherein  heaps  of  snow  as  big  as  small  hills  are 
rolling  down.  An  avalanche  ourselves,  we  slide  down 
other  avalanches,  and  we  see  amphitheatres,  ravines, 
crags,  defiling  at  our  side  as  if  they  were  drawn  along 
by  a  tempest ;  even  the  summits  themselves,  soaring  to 
the  horizon,  seem  to  be  swept  along  in  a  fantastic  whirl- 
wind, in  a  species  of  infernal  gallop.  And  when,  at  the 
end  of  the  unbridled  race,  we  arrive  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  in  the  plains,  already  cleared  from  the  snow  or 
slightly  powdered  over  with  it,  when  we  breathe  another 
atmosphere  and  behold  a  new  nature  in  another  climate, 
we  ask  ourselves  if  we  have  not  really  been  the  play- 
thing of  some  hallucination,  if  we  have  indeed  crossed 
that  deep  snow  above  the  region  of  clouds  and  tempests  ? 

But  on  those  days  during  which  a  storm  lasts,  the 
transit  is  perilous  enough  for  a  traveller  to  remember  it, 
to  retain  a  very  distinct  recollection  of  all  his  adventures. 
The  hurricane  incessantly  drives  up  whirlwinds  of  snow 


"  THERE    IS   THE    ABYSS. 


SNOW.  83 

which  hide  the  road  and  modify  its  form,  reducing  the 
slopes  and  filling  up  the  road,  rough  enough  already. 
The  horses,  so  sure-footed  on  solid  ground,  have  some- 
times to  cross  through  heaps  of  soft,  deep  drifts ;  while 
the  one  sinks  into  them  up  to  his  chest,  another  stumbles 
over  a  piled-up  mound.  The  tempest  whistling  round 
their  ears,  the  flakes  blowing  into  their  eyes  and  nostrils, 
the  brutal  oaths  of  the  drivers,  irritate  and  threaten  to 
madden  them.  The  sleigh  jolts  up  the  narrow  way,  now 
bending  towards  the  mountain  wall,  now  towards  the 
precipice,  for  there  is  the  abyss ;  we  graze  its  edges,  fol- 
low it  afar  to  an  immense  distance,  as  if  in  falling  we 
must  go  down  into  another  world.  The  coachman  has 
put  down  his  whip ;  he  holds  nothing  but  a  knife  in  his 
hand  now,  ready  to  cut  the  traces  if  the  horses,  bewildered 
with  fear  or  slipping  down  a  snowy  slope,  should  sud- 
denly roll  over  the  precipice. 

Terrible  is  the  unhappy  pedestrian's  position  when, 
slowly  crossing  the  snow,  he  is  all  at  once  overtaken  by 
a  storm.  The  people  in  the  plains  composedly  contem- 
plate the  weather.  The  mountain-peak,  lashed  by  the 
wind,  seems  to  smoke  like  a  crater ;  the  countless  frozen 
molecules  tossed  up  by  the  tempest  gather  in  the  clouds 
whirling  above  the  summits.  The  contours  of  the  ridges, 
blurred  by  this  mist  of  circling  snow,  appear  less  regu- 
lar— they  look  as  if  they  were  floating  in  space ;  even 
the  mountain  seems  to  oscillate  on  its  enormous  base. 
And  what  becomes  of  the  poor  traveller  amid  this  dizzy 
whirl  of  the  tempest  as  it  whistles  around  the  high 
peaks  ?  The  spicules  of  ice,  hurled  against  him  like  ar- 
rows, beat  his  face  and  threaten  to  blind  him ;  they  even 
penetrate  his  clothes ;  he  can  hardly  defend  himself 

5 


84  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

against  them,  wrapped  as  he  is  in  his  thick  cloak.  When, 
making  a  false  step  or  following  a  wrong  track,  he  leaves 
the  footpath  for  one  moment,  he  is  almost  inevitably 
lost.  He  walks  along  by  chance,  falling  from  one  drift 
into  another.  Sometimes  he  sinks  half-way  up  into  a 
hole  of  soft  snow ;  he  remains  in  it  some  time,  as  if 
awaiting  his  death  in  the  grave  that  opens  out  beneath 
him ;  then,  in  despair,  he  raises  himself  up  again  and  re- 
commences his  rough  way  through  the  clouds  of  crystals 
driven  into  his  face  by  the  wind.  The  squalls  alternate- 
ly approach  and  retreat  from  the  horizon.  At  one  mo- 
ment he  sees  nothing  around  him  but  the  white  smoke 
of  the  circling  flakes ;  at  another,  on  his  right  or  left,  he 
can  distinguish  a  tranquil  peak  shaking  off  the  clouds 
and  looking  at  him,  "  without  hatred  and  without  love," 
indifferent  to  his  despair ;  in  it,  at  least,  he  sees  a  sort  of 
landmark,  allowing  him  to  resume  his  way  with  some 
return  of  hope.  But  in  vain ;  blinded,  maddened,  stiff- 
ened with  the  cold,  he  ends  by  losing  all  power  of  voli- 
tion ;  he  turns  round  and  round,  and  struggles  aimlessly 
on.  At  last  he  falls  into  some  chasm,  gazes  in  stupor  at 
the  whirling  storm  as  it  sweeps  over  him,  and  by  degrees 
allows  sleep,  the  precursor  of  death,  to  overcome  him. 
In  a  few  months,  when  the  snow  shall  have  been  melted 
by  the  heat  and  swept  away  by  avalanches,  some  sheep- 
dog will  find  the  body,  and  by  his  terrified  barking  sum- 
mon his  master. 

Formerly  any  human  remains  found  in  the  mountain 
had  to  rest  forever  in  the  place  where  the  shepherd  dis- 
covered them.  Rocks  were  piled  up  above  the  corpse, 
and  every  passer-by  was  bound  to  add  his  stone  to  the 
increasing  cairn.  Even  nowadays  any  mountaineer  pass- 


SNOW.  85 

ing  one  of  these  ancient  tombs  never  fails  to  pick  up  his 
stone  wherewith  to  enlarge  the  pile.  The  dead  person 
has  long  since  been  forgotten — perhaps  his  identity  was 
never  even  known;  but  from  century  to  century  the 
passer-by  never  ceases  to  render  homage  to  him,  hoping 
to  appease  his  manes. 


86  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AVALANCHES. 

AT  last  the  long  winter  and  its  redoubtable  storms 
have  been  succeeded  by  sweet  spring-time,  with  its  rains, 
its  mild  winds,  its  vivifying  warmth.  Everything  grows 
young  again ;  the  mountain  as  well  as  the  plain  assumes 
a  new  aspect.  It  shakes  off  its  mantle  of  snow ;  its  for- 
ests, turf,  cascades,  and  lakes  appear  once  more  beneath 
the  sun's  rays. 

In  the  valley,  man  was  the  first  to  rid  himself  of  the 
accumulated  snow  which  inconvenienced  him.  He  has 
swept  the  threshold  of  his  door,  mended  his  roads,  freed 
his  roofs  and  garden,  and  then  waits  for  the  sun  to  do 
the  rest.  The  soulanes,  or  slopes,  well  exposed  to  the 
southern  rays,  begin  to  cast  off  the  white  winding-sheet 
that  shrouds  them  ;  here  and  there  the  rock,  earth,  or  turf 
reappears  through  the  snowy  bed.  These  black  patch- 
es increase  by  degrees ;  they  resemble  groups  of  islands 
incessantly  growing  bigger,  and  ending  by  joining  one 
another :  the  white  spots  diminish  in  number  and  size ; 
they  melt,  and  seem  gradually  to  reascend  the  mountain 
slope.  The  forest  trees,  awaking  from  their  torpor,  be- 
gin to  put  on  their  spring  garb ;  assisted  by  the  little 
birds,  fluttering  from  branch  to  branch,  they  shake  off 
the  burden  they  bear  of  hoar-frost  and  snow,  and  freely 
bathe  their  new  shoots  in  the  milder  atmosphere. 


A  VALANCHES,  87 

The  torrents,  too,  regain  their  animation.  Beneath 
the  protecting  bed  of  snow,  the  temperature  of  the 
ground  has  never  fallen  so  low  as  at  the  outer  surface 
swept  by  the  cold  winds ;  and,  during  long  months  of 
winter,  small  reservoirs  of  water,  like  the  little  drops  in 
a  diamond  vessel,  retain  their  natural  state  here  and  there 
beneath  the  ice.  In  the  spring-time  these  urns,  towards 
which  flow  all  the  tiny  rills  of  melted  snow,  no  longer 
suffice  to  retain  the  liquid  mass;  the  frozen  coverings 
burst,  the  basins  overflow,  and  the  water  seeks  to  hollow 
a  path  out  for  itself  beneath  the  snow.  In  every  ravine, 
every  depression  of  the  ground,  this  hidden  work  goes 
on ;  and  the  torrent  in  the  valley,  fed  by  all  these  rivulets 
descending  from  above,  resumes  its  course,  which  had 
been  interrupted  by  the  cold  of  the  winter.  At  first  it 
passes  through  a  tunnel,  beneath  heaped-up  snow ;  then, 
owing  to  the  incessant  progress  of  the  thaw,  it  enlarges 
its  bed  and  raises  its  vaults.  The  moment  arrives  in 
which  the  mass  above  cannot  any  longer  preserve  its  en- 
tirety ;  it  gives  way  as  would  the  roof  of  a  temple  whose 
pillars  were  shaken.  Thus  leaks  are  opened  out  in  the 
accumulated  snow,  filling  up  the  bottom  of  the  valleys ; 
when  we  lean  over  the  edge  of  these  chasms,  we  can  see 
in  their  depths  a  black  object  upon  which  a  little  foam  is 
broidering  ephemeral  lacework.  It  is  the  water  of  the 
torrent;  the  dull  murmur  of  the  stones  dashing  against 
each  other  rises  from  the  gloomy  aperture. 

This  first  giving-way  of  snow  is  succeeded  by  others 
more  and  more  numerous ;  and  soon  the  torrent,  once 
again  free  to  a  great  extent,  has  nothing  left  but  to  throw 
down  the  dams  formed  by  the  thickest  and  most  compact 
snow.  Some  of  these  ramparts  resist  the  action  of  the 


88  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

waters  for  weeks  and  months.  Even  on  the  edges  of  the 
cascades  masses  of  snow,  converted  into  ice  and  inces- 
santly sprinkled  with  the  water  breaking  forth,  obsti- 
nately retain  their  form ;  it  is  as  if  they  refused  to  dis- 
solve. We  frequently  see  before  the  busy  cataract  of 
the  torrents  a  sort  of  screen  formed  by  a  solidified  water- 
fall ;  it  is  the  frozen  snow  which  arrested  the  flow  of  the 
water  during  the  winter.  "While  remaking  their  beds  in 
every  valley  passing  along  the  base  of  the  mountains,  in 
every  ravine  furrowing  their  sides,  the  waters  of  the 
brooks  and  torrents  carry  away  from  the  snow  on  the 
slopes  the  basement  serving  as  its  support.  The  action 
of  this  pressure  tends  to  produce  avalanches,  and  from 
time  to  time  the  mountain,  like  an  animate  creature, 
throws  the  snowy  garment  from  off  its  shoulders.  In 
all  seasons,  even  in  the  severest  portion  of  the  winter, 
masses  of  snow,  carried  away  by  their  own  weight,  roll 
from  the  summits  and  slopes ;  but  these  avalanches  being 
merely  composed  of  the  superficial  portion  of  the  snow, 
they  are  but  a  trifling  incident  in  the  mountain's  life. 
Sometimes,  however,  it  is  the  entire*mass  of  the  winter 
covering  that  slips  from  the  heights  to  cast  itself  into  the 
valleys ;  the  water,  or  melted  snow,  hardly  able  to  pene- 
trate through  the  still  frozen  surface  beds,  has  rendered 
the  ground  slippery,  thus  preparing  the  way  for  the  ava- 
lanche. The  moment  arrives  when  a  whole  field  of  snow 
is  no  longer  attached  to  the  slope ;  it  gives  way,  and,  by 
the  great  shock  it  imparts  to  that  adjoining,  causes  it  also 
to  yield.  The  whole  mass  is  simultaneously  precipitated 
down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  pushing  before  it  all  the 
debris  met  with  on  its  course — trunks  of  trees,  stones, 
blocks  of  rock.  Dragging  away  with  it  great  layers 


A.VALANCBES.  .  89 

of  the  adjacent  surface,  and  overthrowing  more  distant 
forests,  the  formidable  downfall  at  one  blow  sweeps  away 
a  whole  side  of  a  mountain  several  hundred  yards  in  ex- 
tent, and  the  valley  becomes  partially  filled  with  it.  The 
torrents,  dashing  up  against  the  obstacle,  are  obliged,  tem- 
porarily, to  convert  themselves  into  lakes. 

Of  the  bulk  of  these  avalanches,  both  mountaineers  and 
travellers  invariably  speak  with  dread.  And  some  val- 
leys, more  exposed  than  others,  have  received  sinister 
names  in  the  local  patois,  such  as  "  The  Yalley  of  Hor- 
ror," or  "  The  Gorge  of  the  Earthquake." 

I  know  one,  the  most  terrible  of  all,  into  which  the 
muleteers  never  venture  without  keeping  their  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  heights.  Especially  on  those  fine  spring  days, 
when  the  mild,  soft  atmosphere  is  filled  with  dissolved 
vapors,  are  the  travellers'  looks  anxious  and  their  words 
few.  They  know  that  the  avalanche  is  simply  waiting 
for  a  shock,  for  a  disturbance  of  the  air  or  ground,  in  or- 
der to  set  itself  in  motion.  At  these  times  they  walk 
like  thieves,  with  "rapid,  cautious  steps ;  sometimes  even 
they  wrap  straw  r^und  their  mules'  bells,  so  that  the 
tinkling  of  the  metal  may  not  irritate  the  evil  spirit  men- 
acing them  up  above.  At  last,  when  they  have  passed 
the  outlet  of  those  redoubtable  ravines,  where  the  moun- 
tain rivulets  simultaneously  let  loose  their  avalanches  on 
several  sides,  they  can  breathe  in  peace,  and  think,  with- 
out personal  anxiety,  of  their  less  happy  predecessors,  of 
whom  they  were  telling  such  terrible  tales  the  evening 
before.  Frequently,  while  the  travellers  are  tranquilly 
continuing  their  descent  towards  the  plain,  a  sound  of 
thunder,  a  prolonged  roar  reverberating  from  rock  to 
rock,  compels  them  suddenly  to  turn  round ;  it  is  the 


90  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

fall  of  snow  that  has  just  taken  place,  and  has  filled  the 
gorge  through  which  they  passed  a  few  moments  ago. 

Happily  the  disposition  and  form  of  the  slopes  permit 
the  mountaineers  to  recognize  such  dangerous  localities. 
Thus  they  do  not  build  their  cabins  below  a  declivity 
whereon  avalanches  are  formed,  and,  in  tracing  out  their 
footpaths,  take  care  to  select  sheltered  routes.  But  ev- 
erything changes  in  nature,  and  one  of  these  little  houses 
or  footpaths,  which  so  lately  had  nothing  to  fear,  ends  by 
finding  itself  exposed  to  danger ;  the  angle  of  a  projec- 
tion may  have  disappeared,  the  direction  of  the  channel 
of  the  avalanche  may  have  been  slightly  diverted,  the 
protecting  outskirts  of  a  forest  have  given  way  beneath 
the  pressure  of  the  snow,  and  consequently  all  the  moun- 
taineers' precautions  have  proved  futile. 

In  consequence  of  the  thousands  of  columns  of  closely 
packed  trunks,  woods  are  one  of  the  best  barriers  against 
the  progress  of  these  avalanches,  and  numbers  of  villages 
possess  no  other  means  of  defence  against  the  snow.  And 
with  what  respect,  what  almost  religious  veneration,  do 
the  people  regard  their  sacred  wood !  The  stranger  walk- 
ing about  their  mountains  admires  the  forest  for  the  sake 
of  the  beauty  of  its  trees,  the  contrast  of  its  verdure  with 
the  white  snow;  but  they,  they  owe  to  it  life  and  re- 
pose ;  it  is,  thanks  to  it,  that  they  can  go  tranquilly  to 
sleep  of  an  evening  without  fear  of  being  swallowed  up 
during  the  night.  Full  of  gratitude  towards  the  protect- 
ing forest,  they  have  deified  it.  Woe  be  to  him  who 
touches  one  of  its  shielding  trunks  with  his  axe !  "  He 
who  kills  the  sacred  tree  kills  the  mountaineer,"  says  one 
of  their  proverbs. 

And  yet  such  murderers  have  been  met  with,  and  in 


AVALANCHES.  91 

great  numbers.  Just  as  in  our  days,  even  so-called  "  civ- 
ilized" soldiers  compel  the  inhabitants  of  an  oasis  to  sub- 
mit, by  hewing  down  their  palm-trees,  which  are  the  life 
of  the  tribe,  so  has  it  often  occurred  that,  in  order  to  re- 
duce the  mountaineers,  invaders,  in  the  pay  of  some  lord, 
or  even  shepherds  from  another  valley,  have  cut  down 
the  trees  which  served  the  villages  as  a  safeguard  against 
destruction.  Such  were,  such  are  still,  the  practices  of 
war.  Not  less  ferocious  is  greedy  speculation  when,  by 
right  of  purchase  or  the  chances  of  inheritance  or  con- 
quest, a  moneyed  man  has  become  the  proprietor  of  a  sa- 
cred forest ;  woe  be  to  those  whose  fate  depends  upon 
his  benevolence  or  caprice !  Soon  the  wood-cutters  are 
at  work  in  the  forest,  the  trunks  are  hewn  down,  thrown 
into  the  valley,  sold  as  planks,  and  paid  for  in  good  ster- 
ling dollars.  Thus  a  wide  road  is  laid  open  for  the  ava- 
lanches. Deprived  of  their  outwork,  it  may  be  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  threatened  village  persist  in  remaining 
for  the  sake  of  their  natal  hearth :  but  sooner  or  later 
the  peril  becomes  imminent;  they  are  obliged  to  migrate 
in  all  haste,  to  carry  away  their  precious  possessions,  and 
to  leave  the  house  a  prey  to  the  tottering  snow. 

Terrible  chronicles  of  avalanches  are  related  to  night- 
watchers  in  all  mountain  villages,  and  the  children  listen 
while  nestling  up  against  their  mothers'  knees.  What 
the  fire-damp  is  to  a  miner  is  an  avalanche  to  a  moun- 
taineer. It  menaces  his  chalet,  his  barns,  his  cattle;  it 
may  swallow  up  himself.  How  many  relatives,  friends, 
has  he  known  who  now  sleep  beneath  the  snow !  Of  an 
evening  when  he  passes  by  the  place  where  the  enor- 
mous mass  ingulfed  them,  it  seems  to  him  that  the 
mountain  whence  the  avalanche  was  let  loose  looks 


92  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

wickedly  at  him,  and  .he  redoubles  his  pace  in  order  to 
hasten  from  the  sinister  spot.  Sometimes,  also,  the  debris 
of  the  downfall  reminds  him  of  a  comrade's  unhoped- 
for escape.  Yonder,  on  one  spring  night,  a  sloping  bed 
of  snow,  higher  than  the  tallest  fir-trees  and  the  village 
tower,  fell  down.  A  group  of  cottages  and  barns  lay 
beneath  the  formidable  mass.  No  doubt,  thought  the 
mountaineers  who  had  hastened  up  from  the  neighboring 
hamlets — no  doubt  the  woodwork  had  been  demolished 
and  the  inhabitants  would  be  lying  crushed  beneath  the 
ruins!  Yet  they  set  bravely  to  work  to  remove  the 
enormous  heap.  They  labor  on  for  four  days  and  four 
nights,  and  when  at  last  their  spades  reach  the  roof  of 
the  first  chalet  they  hear  voices  singing  in  answer  to  one 
another.  These  are  the  voices  of  the  friends  whom  they 
imagined  to  be  lost.  Their  houses  had  withstood  the 
violence  of  the  shock,  and  the  air  which  they  contained 
had  happily  been  sufficient.  During  the  people's  im- 
prisonment they  had  spent  their  time  in  establishing 
communication  from  house  to  house,  and  in  digging  a 
tunnel  of  egress,  singing  at  the  same  time  so  as  to  en- 
courage themselves  over  their  work. 

When  once  the  protecting  forests  have  disappeared,  it 
is  very  difficult  to  replace  them.  Trees  grow  slowly  on 
all  parts  of  the  mountains;  in  the  channels  of  the  ava- 
lanches they  do  not  grow  at  all.  It  is  true  that  by  means 
of  engineering  works  the  snow  can  be  kept  safely  on  the 
high  slopes,  and  thus  the  disaster  of  its  fall  into  the  val- 
leys be  prevented ;  the  declivity  might  be  hewn  into 
horizontal  terraces  upon  which  the  beds  of  snow  would 
be  obliged  to  rest,  as  upon  the  steps  of  a  gigantic  stair- 
case ;  the  trunks  of  trees  might  be  replaced  by  rows  of 


AVALANCHES.  93 

iron  stakes  and  palisades,  which  would  prevent  the  slip- 
ping-down  of  the  upper  masses.  These  attempts  have 
already  been  made  successfully,  but  only  in  valleys  in- 
habited by  a  rich  and  numerous  population.  Poor  vil- 
lagers, unless  they  are  aided  by  the  world  at  large,  would 
never  think  of  thus  carving  afresh  the  exterior  of  the 
mountain,  and  the  avalanches  continue  to  fall  upon  the 
meadows  by  their  accustomed  channels.  The  villagers 
are  obliged  to  confine  themselves  to  protecting  their  little 
houses  by  enormous  spurs  of  stone,  breaking  the  force  of 
the  slipping  snow,  and  dividing  it  into  two  currents  when 
it  does  not  descend  in  masses  sufficiently  powerful  to  de- 
molish everything  at  one  shock. 

Of  all  the  destroyers  of  the  mountains,  an  avalanche  is 
the  most  energetic.  It  carries  away  with  it  earth  and 
rocky  fragments  as  would  an  overflowing  torrent;  still 
more  by  the  gradual  melting  of  the  snow,  forming  its 
lower  strata,  it  so  moistens  the  ground  that  the  latter  be- 
comes changed  into  soft  mud,  fissured  with  deep  crevices, 
and  sinking  down  beneath  its  own  weight.  The  earth 
has  become  fluid  to  a  great  depth ;  it  flows  along  the 
whole  length  of  the  slopes,  drawing  with  it  footpaths, 
blocks  of  scattered  rocks,  even  houses  and  forests.  Whole 
sides  of  mountains,  rendered  sodden  by  the  snow,  have 
thus  slipped  down  in  one  mass  with  their  fields,  their 
pastures,  their  woods,  and  their  inhabitants.  Thus  by 
their  heaping  up,  and  the  melting  water  penetrating  so 
slowly  into  the  ground,  flakes  of  snow  suffice  little  by 
little  to  demolish  the  mountains.  In  spring  every  ravine 
clearly  betrays  this  work  of  destruction  ;  cascades,  land- 
slips, avalanches,  snow,  rocks,  and  water  descend  in  con- 
fusion from  the  summits  and  make  their  way  towards 
the  plain. 


94  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GLACIERS. 

EVEN  in  the  midst  of  summer,  when  all  the  snow  is 
melted  by  the  breath  of  the  warm  winds,  enormous  accu- 
mulations of  ice,  imprisoned  in  the  upper  valleys,  still 
produce  a  local  winter,  appearing  all  the  more  curious 
from  the  contrast.  When  the  sun  shines  with  all  its 
brilliancy,  both  the  direct  heat  and  that  sent  forth  by  the 
glaciers  are  felt  oppressively  by  the  traveller;  it  even 
seems  to  be  hotter  than  in  the  valleys,  owing  to  the  dry- 
ness  of  the  air,  incessantly  deprived  of  its  humidity  by 
the  glacier's  greedy  surface.  Birds  can  be  heard  singing 
close  by  beneath  the  foliage ;  flowers  stud  the  grass,  fruit 
ripens  under  the  whortleberry  leaves.  And  yet,  side  by 
side  with  this  joyous  world,  there  lies  the  gloomy  glacier, 
with  its  gaping  crevices,  its  collection  of  stones,  its  terri- 
ble silence,  its  apparent  immobility.  It  is  death  by  the 
side  of  life. 

Nevertheless,  the  great  frozen  mass  possesses  its  mo- 
tion also:  slowly,  but  with  an  invincible  force,  it  works 
as  do  the  wind,  snow,  rain,  running  water,  to  renew  the 
planet's  surface.  Wherever  glaciers  have  passed  over, 
during  one  of  the  ages  of  the  earth's  existence,  the  aspect 
of  the  country  has  been  transformed  by  their  action. 
As  do  avalanches,  they  carry  the  rubbish  of  the  crum- 


GLACIERS.  95 

bling  mountains  into  the  plains,  not  by  violence,  but  by 
the  patient  labor  of  every  moment. 

The  work  of  the  glacier,  so  difficult  to  discover  in  its 
secret  progress,  although  so  vast  in  its  results,  commences 
from  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  on  the  surface  of  the 
snowy  strata.  Up  above  in  the  amphitheatres  where  the 
clouds  of  white  spicules,  lashed  by  the  storm,  have  been 
collected  in  whirlwinds,  the  uniform  expanse  of  the  snow- 
banks does  not  change  its  aspect.  From  year  to  year, 
from  century  to  century,  it  is  always  the  same  whiteness, 
pale  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  clouds,  dazzling  beneath 
the  rays  of  the  sun.  It  appears  as  if  the  snow  were  eter- 
nal there,  and  it  is  thus  designated  by  the  inhabitants  of 
the  plains,  who  from  below  see  it  shining  beside  the 
heavens.  They  believe  that  it  remains  forever  upon  the 
lofty  peaks,  and  that  if  the  wind,  during  storms,  does  lift 
it  up,  it  is  always  allowed  to  fall  back  into  the  same 
place. 

It  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  One  portion  of  the  snow 
evaporates  and  returns  to  the  clouds,  whence  it  descend- 
ed. Another  portion,  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  or 
to  the  influence  of  a  hot  southern  wind,  is  sprinkled  over 
with  tiny  melted  drops,  trickling  down  the  surface  or 
penetrating  the  strata  until,  seized  upon  again  by  the 
cold,  they  become  congealed  into  imperceptible  gems. 
Thus,  by  means  of  the  millions  of  molecules  which  melt, 
then  freeze  to  melt  again,  and  again  grow  solid,  the  mass 
of  snow  becomes  insensibly  transformed ;  at  the  same 
time,  owing  to  the  weight  which  carries  away  the  melted 
drops  for  several  inches,  it  becomes  displaced,  and  little 
by  little  the  snow,  so  lately  fallen  upon  the  summit  of 
the  mountain,  is  found  to  have  descended  the  slopes. 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN.- 

Other  snow  has  taken  its  place,  and  will  flow  again  in 
turn  by  a  series  of  fusions,  without,  however,  having  to 
suffer  the  least  apparent  change.  It  is  true  that  they 
have  the  infinitude  of  ages  before  them ;  slowly  they 
move  on  towards  the  sea,  where  they  must  one  day  be 
swallowed  up.  By  the  time  that  two  generations  of  men 
have  succeeded  one  another  in  the  lower  plains,  one  of 
these  flakes  of  snow,  fallen  from  a  lofty  peak,  will  not 
yet  have  issued  from  the  mass  of  the  snow. 

But,  slow  as  it  may  be,  this  flake,  converted  into  a 
crystal,  does  not  the  less  hold  on  in  its  course.  The  mass 
of  snow,  which  has  become  homogeneous,  and  has  already 
been  transformed  into  ice,  gets  entangled  in  the  moun- 
tain gorge,  whither  its  weight  draws  it.  Always  immov- 
able in  appearance,  the  accumulation  of  ice  has  now  be- 
come a  real  river  flowing  in  a  rocky  bed.  Upon  the 
slopes  to  the  right  and  left,  the  winter's  snow  is  com- 
pletely melted,  and  flowering  plants  have  replaced  it;  a 
whole  world  of  insects  lives  and  buzzes  amid  the  grass 
of  the  pastures ;  the  air  is  soft,  and  man  leads  his  flocks 
on  to  the  grassy  escarpments  whence  his  glance  can  de- 
scend from  afar  upon  the  frozen  stream.  The  latter,  by 
unceasing  efforts,  continues  its  journey  to  the  plain ;  it 
would  stretch  itself  out  as  far  as  the  level  fields  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains — it  would  reach  the  sea  itself — if 
the  mild  temperature  of  the  lowrer  valleys,  the  warmth 
of  the  winds,  the  rays  of  the  sun,  did  not  succeed  in 
melting  the  foremost  ice. 

On  its  course,  the  solid  river  behaves  as  would  a  real 
one  of  running  water.  It  has  its  meanderings,  its  eddies, 
its  depths  and  shallows,  its  "  torpids,"  its  rapids,  and  its 
cascades.  Like  the  water,  which  expands  or  contracts 


GLACIER   AND    CREVASSE. 


GLACIERS.  97 

according  to  the  form  of  its  bed,  the  ice  adapts  itself  to 
the  dimensions  of  the  ravine  containing  it.  It  knows 
exactly  how  to  mould  itself  upon  the  rock,  as  well  in 
the  vast  basin  whose  walls  widen  out  on  either  side  as 
in  the  defile,  where  the  passage  almost  closes  up.  Im- 
pelled by  the  masses,  incessantly  fed  by  the  upper  snow, 
the  glacier  continues  to  slide  upon  the  bottom,  the  in- 
cline of  which  is  almost  insensible,  or  else  forms  a  suc- 
cession of  precipices. 

But  the  ice,  not  possessing  the  suppleness,  the  fluidity, 
of  water,  accomplishes,  with  a  somewhat  barbaric  awk- 
wardness, all  the  movements  forced  upon  it  by  the  nat- 
ure of  the  ground.  It  cannot,  at  its  cataracts,  fall  in  one 
level  sheet  as  does  the  water  current;  but,  according  to 
the  inequalities  of  the  bottom  and  the  cohesion  of  the 
ice  crystals,  it  fractures,  splits,  gets  cut  up  into  blocks  in- 
clining various  ways,  falling  over  one  another,  becoming 
cemented  together  again  in  curious  obelisks,  towers,  fan- 
tastic groups.  Even  in  that  part  where  the  bottom  of 
the  immense  groove  inclines  with  tolerable  regularity, 
the  surface  of  the  glacier  does  not  in  the  least  resemble 
the  even  surface  of  the  water  of  a  river.  The  friction 
of  the  ice  against  its  edges  does  not  ripple  it  with  tiny 
wave's  similar  to  those  of  the  shore,  but  fractures  and  re- 
fractures  it  with  crevices,  intersecting  one  another  in  a 
labyrinth  of  fissures. 

In  winter,  and  even  when  spring  has  already  renewed 
the  ornamentation  of  the  lower  countries,  a  great  num- 
ber of  crevasses  are  concealed  beneath  thick  masses  of 
snow,  extending  in  continued  layers  along  the  surface  of 
the  glacier;  then,  if  the  granulous  snow  has  not  been 
softened  by  the  sun's  heat,  it  is  easy  to  walk  above  the 


98  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN, 

mouth  of  these  hidden  abysses.  The  traveller  can  ignore 
them,  as  he  ignores  the  open  caves  in  the  thickness  of 
the  mountains.  But  the  annual  return  of  the  summer 
season  by  degrees  melts  the  superficial  snow.  The  gla- 
cier, moving  on  incessantly,  and  whose  fractured  mass 
vibrates  in  one  continual  tremor,  shakes  off  the  snowy 
mantle  covering  it;  here  and  there  the  vaults  fall  in, 
and  in  great  fragments  bury  themselves  in  the  depths  of 
the  crevasses;  frequently  nothing  remains  but  the  nar- 
row bridges  upon  which  no  person  would  venture  with- 
out having  tested  the  solidity  of  the  snow  with  his  foot. 

It  is  then  that  it  becomes  dangerous  to  traverse  many 
a  glacier  on  account  of  the  width  of  its  fissures,  branch- 
ing out  to  infinity.  From  the  edges  of  the  chasm  we 
sometimes  see  in  the  interior  of  the  superposed  layers  of 
bluish  ice,  which  recently  were  snow  and  are  separated 
by  blackish  bands,  the  remains  of  debris  fallen  upon  the 
snow;  at  other  times  the  ice,  clear,  homogeneous  in  its 
whole  mass,  appears  to  be  but  one  single  crystal. 

What  is  the  depth  of  the  well  ?  We  do  not  know.  A 
jutting  crag  of  ice,  combined  with  the  darkness,  prevents 
our  glance  descending  to  the  lowest  rocks ;  yet  we  some- 
times hear  a  mysterious  noise  ascending  from  the  abyss : 
it  is  the  water  rippling,  a  stone  becoming  loosened,  a  bit 
of  ice  splitting  off  and  falling  down. 

Explorers  have  descended  these  chasms  to  measure 
their  density  and  to  study  the  temperature  and  composi- 
tion of  the  deep  ice.  Sometimes  they  have  been  able  to 
do  it  without  any  great  risk,  by  penetrating  laterally  into 
the  clefts,  by  the  jutting  rocks  which  serve  as  banks  to 
the  rivers  of  ice.  Frequently,  too,  they  have  been  obliged 
to  be  let  down  by  means  of  ropes,  as  is  the  miner  who 


GLACIERS.  99 

penetrates  to  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  But  for  one  sci- 
entific discoverer  who,  taking  all  necessary  precautions, 
thus  explores  the  holes  of  the  glaciers,  how  many  unhap- 
py shepherds  have  been  ingulfed  and  met  their  death  in 
those  chasms !  Yet  we  know  of  mountaineers  who,  hav- 
ing fallen  to  the  bottom  of  these  crevasses,  wounded, 
bleeding,  lost  in  the  darkness,  have  preserved  their  cour- 
age and  the  resolution  to  see  daylight  once  more.  There 
was  one  who  followed  the  course  of  a  sub-glacial  stream, 
and  thus  made  a  veritable  journey  below  the  enormous 
vault  of  pieces  of  falling  ice.  After  a  similar  excursion, 
there  is  nothing  left  for  the  man  to  do  but  to  descend 
into  the  chasm  of  a  crater  to  explore  the  subterranean 
reservoir  of  lava. 

We  are  certainly  bound  to  award  great  praise  to  the 
courageous  savant  who  descends  into  the  depths  of  the 
glacier  to  study  its  channels  or  grooves,  its  air-bubbles,  its 
crystals ;  but  how  many  things  may  we  not  contemplate 
on  the  surface,  how  many  charming  details  are  we  not 
permitted  to  perceive,  how  many  laws  are  not  revealed 
to  our  eyes,  if  we  know  how  to  look ! 

Really,  in  this  apparent  chaos  everything  is  regulat- 
ed by  laws.  Why  should  a  fissure  always  be  produced 
in  the  frozen  mass  opposite  one  point  of  the  steep 
bank  ?  Why  at  a  certain  depth  below  should  the  crevasse, 
which  has  gradually  become  enlarged,  again  bring  its 
edges  nearer  ea"ch  other  and  the  glacier  be  recemented  ? 
Why  should  the  surface  regularly  bulge  out  in  one  part 
to  become  fissured  elsewhere  ?  On  seeing  all  these  phe- 
nomena, which  roughly  reproduce  the  ripples,  wave- 
lets, and  eddies  on  the  smooth  sheets  of  the  water  of 
a  river,  we  better  understand  the  unity  which,  under 


100  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

such  an  infinity  of  aspects,  presides  over  everything  in 
nature. 

When,  by  long  exploration,  we  have  become  familiar 
with  the  glacier,  and  we  know  how  to  account  to  our- 
selves for  all  the  little  changes  which  take  place  upon  its 
surface,  it  is  a  delight,  a  joy,  to  roam  about  it  on  a  fine 
summer's  day.  The  heat  of  the  sun  has  endowed  it  with 
voice  and  motion.  Tiny  veins  of  water,  almost  imper- 
ceptible at  first,  are  formed  here  and  there ;  these  unite 
in  sparkling  streamlets  which  wind  at  the  bottom  of 
miniature  river-beds,  hollowed  out  by  themselves,  and 
then  suddenly  disappear  in  a  fissure  in  the  ice,  giving 
forth  a  low  plaint  in  a  silvery  voice.  They  swell  or  fall 
according  to  the  variations  of  the  temperature.  Should 
a  cloud  pass  before  the  sun  and  cool  the  atmosphere, 
they  barely  continue  to  flow;  when  the  heat  becomes 
greater,  the  superficial  rivulets  assume  the  pace  of  tor- 
rents ;  they  sweep  away  with  them  sand  and  pebbles  to 
be  deposited  in  alluvions,  or  to  form  high  banks  and  isl- 
ands ;  then  towards  evening  they  calm  down,  and  soon 
the  cold  of  the  night  congeals  them  afresh. 

Beneath  the  rays  of  heat  temporarily  animating  the 
field  of  the  glacier  by  melting  the  superficial  layer,  the 
little  world  of  pebbles,  fallen  from  the  neighboring  walls, 
also  becomes  agitated.  A  gravel  slope,  situated  on  the 
edge  of  a  murmuring  stream  of  water,  subsides  by  par- 
tial downfalls  and  plunges  into  the  fissur&s.  Elsewhere, 
black,  broken  stones  are  scattered  over  the  glacier ;  they 
absorb  and  concentrate  the  heat,  making  holes  in  the  ice 
beneath  them,  piercing  it  with  little  cylindrical  aper- 
tures. Farther  off,  on  the  contrary,  vast  accumulations 
of  debris  and  big  stones  prevent  the  heat  of  the  sun  pen- 


GLACIERS.  loi 

etrating  below;  on  every  side  the  ice  melts  and  evapo- 
rates. In  the  end  these  stones  form  pillars  which  appear 
to  grow,  to  spring  out  of  the  ground  like  columns  of 
marble ;  but  each  one,  too  weak,  at  last  breaks  beneath 
the  weight,  and  all  the  fragments  that  it  bore  fall  down 
with  a  crash,  to  recommence  a  similar  evolution  on  the 
morrow.  How  much  more  charming  are  all  these  little 
dramas  of  inanimate  nature  when  animals  or  plants  take 
part  in  them !  Attracted  by  the  mildness  of  the  air,  the 
butterfly  flutters  on  the  scene,  while  the  plant  which  fell 
down  from  the  heights  of  the  neighboring  rocks  in  a 
landslip  utilizes  its  short  reprieve  of  life  to  take  root 
again,  and  to  display  to  the  sun  its  last  corolla.  Navi- 
gators on  the  polar  coast  have  seen  a  whole  carpet  of 
vegetation  cover  a  high  cliff  composed  of  earth  at  the 
top  and  ice  at  the  base. 


102  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MORAINES    AND   TORRENTS. 

ALL  these  small  phenomena  daily  taking  place  appear 
to  be  a  very  trifling  matter  in  the  earth's  history.  What, 
indeed,  is  the  work  of  a  glacier  during  a  summer's  day  ? 
Its  mass,  moving  onward  with  an  unceasing  effort,  has 
hardly  progressed  one  inch  ;  two  or  three  rocks  have  be- 
come detached  from  the  walls  in  order  to  fall  upon  the 
moving  field  of  ice;  the  stream,  carrying  away  the  melted 
water,  has  spread  out  wider  in  its  bed ;  the  pebbles  be- 
come more  numerous,  and  dash  against  each  other  with 
greater  noise.  Otherwise  everything  has  preserved  its 
customary  appearance.  Nowhere  does  nature  seem  to 
be  slower  in  its  work  of  perpetual  renovation. 

And  yet  these  daily,  momentary,  trifling  transforma- 
tions end  by  bringing  about  immense  changes  in  the 
earth's  aspect,  veritable  geological  revolutions.  These 
pebbles,  these  fragments  of  rock,  falling  from  the  upper 
escarpments  on  to  the  bed  of  ice,  become  piled  up,  little 
by  little,  at  the  base  of  the  walls  as  enormous  ramparts 
of  stones;  they  move  slowly  on  with  the  frozen  mass 
that  bears  them ;  but  other  ddbris,  which  has  rolled 
down  the  same  channels  of  the  mountain,  replaces  them 
in  the  localities  they  have  just  vacated.  Thus  long  con- 
voys of  confusedly  piled-up  rocks  accompany  the  glacier 


»  MORAINES  AND   TORRENTS.  103 

on  its  course ;  streams  of  stones  are  added  to  the  stream 
of  ice  descending  from  every  ruined  height,  from  every 
cirque  furrowed  by  avalanches. 

When  it  has  reached  the  outlet  of  the  upper  gorges, 
situated  in  the  regions  of  a  milder  temperature,  the  glac- 
ier cannot  retain  its  crystalline  condition ;  it  thaws  and 
becomes  water,  allowing  its  burden  of  stones  to  drop. 
All  this  debris  rolls  down  in  gross  confusion,  forming  a 
dam  in  the  valley.  At  the  extremity  of  many  a  glacier 
there  are  positive  mountains  of  crumbling  stones  on  the 
loosely  built-up  slopes.  After  a  long  course  of  years 
abounding  in  snow,  the  mass  of  the  glacier  swells  and 
lengthens,  until  it  is  obliged  to  pick  up  these  mountains 
of  stones  once  more  and  to  push  them  a  little  farther 
down  into  the  valley.  Later  on,  when  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  softer  temperature  of  winters,  when  the  snow 
is  less  profuse,  all  the  lower  part  of  the  glacier  will  melt, 
leaving  bare  the  basin  of  rocks  which  served  as  its  bed ; 
the  "  moraine"  of  boulders,  delivered  from  the  pressure 
which  pushed  it  forward,  will  remain  isolated  at  a  certain 
distance  from  the  glacier ;  behind  it  will  be  visible  the 
bare  polished  stone,  rubbed  smooth  by  the  enormous 
weight  so  lately  moving  over  it,  and  here  and  there 
covered  by  a  reddish-hued  mud,  produced  by  the  crush- 
ing of  the  pebbles  and  gravel  carried  away.  Another 
moraine  of  heaped-up  debris  will  be  formed  little  by  lit- 
tle in  front  of  the  talus  of  the  glacier. 

Thus,  then,  at  enormous  distances  ahead  of  the  valley, 
for  miles  and  tens  of  miles,  indisputable  traces  of  the 
former  action  of  the  ice  are  to  be  seen.  Whole  plains, 
once  filled  with  water,  have  been  gradually  overwhelmed 
with  mud  and  pebbles  pushed  on  before  it  by  the  glac- 


104  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

ier ;  the  protuberances  of  the  mountains  and  hills,  met 
with  in  its  course  by  the  solid  stream,  have  been  worn 
and  polished ;  finally,  scattered  rocks  and  moraines  have 
been  deposited  even  as  far  away  as  the  slopes  of  moun- 
tains belonging  to  other  groups.  The  origin  of  these 
stones  is  easily  recognized  by  their  chemical  composition, 
the  arrangement  of  their  crystals  or  their  fossils;  fre- 
quently even  their  distinctive  characters  are  so  precise 
as  to  enable  us  to  point  out  upon  the  mountain  itself  the 
elevated  cirque  whence  the  missing  block  has  been  de- 
tached. For  how  many  years  or  centuries  has  the  voy- 
age lasted?  Very  many,  no  doubt,  if  we  judge  by  the 
big  rocks  which  the  actual  glaciers  carry  away,  and  whose 
progress  has  been  measured.  Among  these  travelling 
blocks  are  some  which  scientific  men  have  rendered 
famous  by  their  observations,  and  which  we  love  to  see 
again  as  if  they  were  friends. 

These  stones  cast  into  the  plains,  these  accumulations 
of  mud  transported  to  a  great  distance,  all  these  traces 
left  by  the  ancient  glaciers'  sojourn,  permit  us  to  imagine 
what  have  been  the  great  alternations  of  the  climate,  and 
the  immense  modifications  in  the  exterior  and  aspect  of 
the  earth  during  the  successive  ages  of  the  planet.  In 
that  past,  revealed  to  us  by  these  remains,  we  see  our 
mountain  and  its  neighbors  rising  up  above  their  actual 
summits.  The  supreme  peaks  passed  beyond  the  highest 
clouds,  and  all  the  vapors  travelling  through  space  de- 
posited themselves  as  snow  or  frozen  crystals  upon  the 
slopes  of  the  enormous  mass ;  the  pastures,  the  verdant 
valleys,  the  now  wooded  sloping  sides,  were  covered  by  a 
uniform  layer  of  ice.  Then  neither  cascades,  lakes,  rivu- 
lets, nor  meadows  had  made  their  appearance  in  the  val- 


MORAINES  AND   TORRENTS.  105 

ley.  The  immense  frozen  stream,  not  less  thick  than  are 
now  the  strata  of  the  mountains,  tilled  up  all  the  depres- 
sions ;  then,  on  issuing  from  the  gorges,  stretched  itself 
far  away  into  the  plains,  below  hills  and  dales.  Such,  in 
our  forefathers'  times,  was  the  image  presented  to  them 
by  the  ice-laden  mountain ;  for  our  sons'  grandsons,  in  the 
remote  uncertainty  of  centuries,  the  scene  will  again  be 
changed.  Perhaps  the  glacier,  then  completely  thawed, 
will  be  replaced  by  a  feeble  rivulet ;  the  mountain,  will 
have  ceased  to  exist ;  a  slight  rise  in  the  ground  will 
mark  its  former  site  ;  and  the  actual  plain,  turned  topsy- 
turvy by  the  alterations  in  its  level,  will  have  given  birth 
to  heights  gradually  growing  up  into  the  skies ! 

And  while  we  muse  upon  the  history  of  the  mountain 
and  its  glacier,  what  they  were,  and  what  they  will  one 
day  become,  yonder  is  the  little  torrent  murmuring  as  it 
issues  from  the  ice,  and  going  forth  into  the  world  to 
work  at  the  task  of  continually  renewing  the  earth.  The 
water,  rendered  white  or  milky  by  the  innumerable  mole- 
cules of  triturated  rock  which  it  bears  suspended,  is  nei- 
ther more  nor  less  than  the  glacier  itself  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  a  liquid  state ;  and  yet  what  a  contrast  be- 
tween the  solid  mass  with  its  crevices,  its  caves,  its  piles 
of  stones,  its  muddy  slopes,  and  the  water  gayly  bursting 
forth  into  daylight,  and  babbling  as  it  winds  amid  the 
flowers !  That  sudden  apparition  of  the  stream,  which 
during  all  its  upper  course  has  moved  along  in  darkness, 
swelling  as  it  goes  by  the  addition  of  millions  of  little 
drops  falling  from  the  clefts  in  the  vault,  is  one  of  the 
most  curious  spectacles  in  the  mountain.  The  cavern 
whence  the  current  escapes  changes  its  form  every  day 
according  to  the  falling  and  melting  of  the  ice ;  yet  ordi- 


106  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

narily  it  is  easy  to  penetrate  to  a  certain  distance  inside 
the  grotto,  and  to  admire  its  pendants,  its  translucent 
walls,  the  bluish  light,  the  changing  reflections.  The 
strangeness  of  the  sight,  the  vague  apprehension  that 
overcomes  our  spirit,  leads  us  to  imagine  that  we  are 
transported  into  a  sacred  place.  "  Three  times  and  a 
thousand  times  blessed  "  those  Hindoo  pilgrims  believe 
themselves  to  be,  who,  after  having  reascended  the  Gan- 
ges as  far  as  its  source,  are  also  permitted  to  penetrate 
beneath  the  gloomy  vault  whence  the  holy  river  shoots 
forth. 

The  glacial  torrents  bring  into  the  plains,  with  great 
regularity,  dependent  upon  that  of  the  season,  the  fertil- 
izing water  and  the  alluvial  mud  arising  from  that  enor- 
mous laboratory  of  trituration  incessantly  at  work  be- 
neath the  glacier.  During  the  cold  season  of  our  tem- 
perate zones,  when  the  rains  fall  most  frequently  upon 
the  fields,  and,  instead  of  evaporating,  find  their  way  tow- 
ards the  rivers,  the  glacier  becomes  more  compactly 
frozen,  adheres  everywhere  to  the  vault  serving  as  its 
bed,  and  merely  allows  the  feeblest  little  rill  to  escape. 
Sometimes  even  it  dries  up  altogether;  not  a  drop  of 
water  descends  from  the  mountain.  But  in  proportion 
as  the  warmth  returns  and  the  glad  vegetation  demands 
a  greater  quantity  of  water  for  its  flowers,  in  proportion 
as  evaporation  becomes  more  active  and  the  level  of  the 
rivers  tends  to  fall,  the  torrents  of  the  glaciers  swell,  they 
are  temporarily  changed  into  rivers  and  furnish  the  nec- 
essary moisture  to  the  thirsty  fields.  Thus  is  established 
a  balance  most  advantageous  for  the  prosperity  of  the 
countries  irrigated  by  watercourses  which  are  partially 
fed  by  glaciers.  When,  swollen  by  rain,  the  tributary 


THE    TOIIREST. 


MORAINES  AND  TORRENTS.  107 

streams  overflow,  the  mountain  torrents  bring  but  a  small 
liquid  stream ;  they,  on  the  other  hand,  overflow  when 
the  other  rivers  are  almost  dry.  Thanks  to  this  law  of 
adjustment,  a  certain  equality  is  maintained  in  the  river 
wherein  all  the  divers  watercourses  unite. 

In  the  general  economy  of  the  earth,  the  glacier,  ap- 
parently motionless,  always  so  slow  and  calm  in  its  action, 
is  a  great  element  of  organization.  Rarely  does  it  intro- 
duce any  disturbance  into  nature.  Such  a  thing  may 
happen,  as,  for  instance,  when  a  lateral  glacier,  pushing 
a  large  mound  of  debris,  or  advancing  alone  across  a 
stream  which  issued  from  the  primary  glacier,  gathers 
together  the  waters  flowing  from  it,  and  thus  forms  a 
constantly  increasing  lake.  For  a  long  time  the  dam 
resists  the  pressure  of  the  liquid  mass,  but,  after  a  con- 
siderable melting  of  the  snow,  a  recoil  of  the  glacier, 
forming  a  dam,  or  of  the  deblais,  slowly  produced  by  the 
water,  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  barrier  of  ice  and  ac- 
cumulated boulders  may  suddenly  give  way.  Then  the 
lake  breaks  loose  as  a  terrible  avalanche :  the  water,  mixed 
with  stones,  with  blocks  of  ice,  and  all  the  debris  torn 
from  its  shores,  rushes  furiously  down  into  the  lower 
valley;  it  carries  away  bridges,  destroys  mills,  razes  the 
houses  on  its  banks,  washes  away  the  trees  on  the  lower 
slopes,  and  lays  bare  the  very  meadows  as  would  a  huge 
ploughshare,  rolling  them  all  on  before  it,  and  mixing^ 
them  up  in  the  chaos  of  its  deluge.  For  those  valleys 
through  which  the  inundation  sweeps  the  disaster  is 
enormous,  and  its  story  is  handed  down  from  genera- 
tion to  generation. 

But  these  are  very  rare  events,  and  even,  in  civilized 
countries,  becoming  impossible  in  future;  for  the  men- 


108  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

aced  population  takes  care  to  anticipate  the  danger  by 
digging  subterranean  outlets  for  the  lacustrine  reservoirs 
formed  behind  a  shifting  dam  of  ice  or  stones.  Thus 
kept  within  bounds,  the  glacier  continues  to  be  the  ben- 
efactor of  the  regions  situated  in  the  course  of  its  waters. 
It  is  the  glacier  that  irrigates  them  during  those  seasons 
when  they  would  have  more  cause  to  dread  the  effects  of 
drought — the  glacier  that  renews  them  by  its  contribu- 
tions of  vegetable  mould,  still  quite  fresh,  and  full  of  its 
nutritive  chemical  elements.  The  glacier  is  in  reality  a 
lake,  a  sea  of  fresh  water,  containing  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  cubic  yards ;  but  this  lake,  suspended  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  makes  its  escape  slowly,  and  as 
if  by  rule.  It  shuts  up  water  enough  to  inundate  all  the 
lower  countries,  but  it  is  discreet  in  dealing  out  its  treas- 
ures. Thus  this  frozen  mass,  with  its  death-like  aspect, 
rather  adds  to  the  life  and  fertility  of  the  earth. 


FORESTS  AND  PASTURES.  109 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FORESTS    AND    PASTURES. 

BY  its  snow  and  melting  ice,  which  serve  to  swell  the 
torrents  and  rivers  during  the  summer,  the  mountain 
sustains  vegetation  at  enormous  distances  from  its  base, 
but  it  keeps  back  plenty  of  moisture  to  nourish  its  own 
growth  of  forests,  grass,  and  moss,  so  very  superior  in 
the  number  of  its  species  to  that  of  a  similar  extent  of 
plains.  From  below  our  eyes  cannot  distinguish  the  de- 
tails of  the  picture  offered  by  the  verdure  of  the  moun- 
tain, but  it  embraces  the  magnificent  ensemble,  and  en- 
joys the  thousand  contrasts  which  the  elevation,  the  ac- 
cidents of  the  ground,  the  incline  of  the  slopes,  the  abun- 
dance of  water,  the  vicinity  of  the  snow,  and  all  the  other 
physical  conditions  produce  in  vegetation. 

In  spring,  when  all  nature  is  regenerated,  it  is  delight- 
ful to  see  the  green  of  the  grass  and  foliage  prevail  over 
the  whiteness  of  the  snow.  The  blades  of  grass,  which 
can  breathe  again,  and  once  more  see  light,  lose  their  red 
tint  and  charred  appearance ;  they  first  assume  a  whitish 
yellow,  then  a  beautiful  green.  Multitudes  of  flowers 
stud  the  meadows ;  here  nothing  but  ranunculus,  else- 
where anemones  or  primroses,  spring  up  in  clusters;  far- 
ther away  the  verdure  disappears  beneath  the  snowy 
white  of  the  graceful  narcissus  of  the  poets  or  the  lilac 


HO  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

of  the  crocus,  which  is  nothing  but  flower  from  root  to 
the  tip  of  the  corolla ;  by  the  water's  side  the  parnassia 
opens  its  delicate  calyx;  here  and  there  tiny  blue  and 
white,  pink  or  yellow  flowerets  are  crowded  together  in 
such  great  numbers  that  they  impart  their  hues  to  the 
whole  of  the  grassy  slope,  so  that  as  fast  as  the  snow  re- 
tires towards  the  heights  before  the  blooming,  verdant 
carpet,  we  can  recognize  from  the  opposite  declivities 
which  species  of  plant  predominates  in  the  meadow. 
Soon  the  trees,  also,  take  part  in  the  f^te.  Below,  on 
the  first  slopes,  there  are  fruit-trees,  which  in  a  few 
weeks'1  tiuie,  after  having  freed  themselves  from  the 
winter's  snow,  are  covered  with  that  of  another  kind,  the 
snow  of  their  blossoms.  Higher  up  the  chestnuts,  the 
beeches,  the  various  shrubs,  are  clad  with  their  tender 
green  leaves;  from  day  to  day  the  mountain  seems  to 
be  freshly  clothed  with  a  wondrous  tissue,  in  which  silk 
and  velvet  blend.  Little  by  little  this  youthful  verdure 
of  forests  and  heaths  advances  to  the  summit ;  it  ascends 
by  the  valleys  and  ravines,  as  if  to  scale  and  conquer  the 
supreme  heights  amid  the  ice.  Up  there  everything  as- 
sumes an  unexpected  aspect  of  gladness.  Even  the  dark 
rocks,  looking  black  by  contrast  with  the  snow,  adorn 
the  irregularities  of  their  surface  with  tiny  tufts  of  green. 
They,  too,  take  part  in  the  spring-time  gayety. 

Although  less  sumptuous  in  the  exuberance  of  their 
verdure  and  the  prodigious  multitude  of  their  flowers, 
the  elevated  pastures  are  more  lovely  than  the  meadows 
below ;  their  sward  is  softer,  more  familiar  in  its  gayety. 
We  can  walk  without  any  exertion  on  the  short  turf,  and 
it  is  easier  to  become  acquainted  with  the  flowers  spring- 
ing up  in  myriads  among  the  tufts  of  verdure.  There. 


FORESTS  AND  PASTURES.  HI 

too,  the  brilliancy  of  the  corollas  is  incomparable ;  there 
the  sun  darts  its  most  scorching  rajs  with  more  power- 
ful and  more  rapid  chemical  action ;  in  the  sap  it  elab- 
orates coloring  substances  of  the  most  perfect  beauty. 
Armed  with  their  microscopes,  the  botanist  and  physi- 
cian duly  satisfy  themselves  as  to  the  phenomenon ;  but, 
without  these  instruments,  the  simple  pedestrian  can  eas- 
ily perceive  with  his  naked  eye  that  the  blue  of  no  flower 
in  the  plain  equals  the  deep  cerulean  hue  of  the  little 
gentian.  Eager  to  live  and  to  enjoy,  the  plants  make 
themselves  as  beautiful  as  possible.  They  don  the  most 
vivid  hues,  for  the  season  of  gladness  will  be  short. 
When  the  summer  has  swiftly  fled,  death  will  overtake 
them. . 

Our  sight  is  dazzled  with  the  radiancy  presented  by 
wide  patches  of  turf  studded  with  the  vivid  pink  stars 
of  the  catch-fly,  the  blue  clusters  of  the  myosotis,  the  big 
golden-hearted  flowers  of  the  alpine  asters.  Upon  the 
driest  slopes,  among  arid  rocks,  grows  the  black  orchis, 
with  its  perfume  of  vanilla,  and  the  "  lion's-foot,"  whose 
flower  never  fades,  and  for  lovers  remains  a  symbol  of 
eternal  love. 

Among  these  plants,  with  their  brilliant  bloom,  there 
are  some  which  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  either  of  the 
snow  or  the  frozen  water.  They  are  not  at  all  chilly ; 
close  beside  the  crystals  of  the  snow-bank  the  flow  of  the 
sap  circulates  freely  through  the  tissues  of  the  delicate 
soldanella,  as  it  bends  its  tender,  pure-hued  corolla  over 
the  snow.  When  the  sun  shines,  we  may  say  of  it,  with 
more  reason  than  of  the  palm-tree  in  the  oasis,  that  its 
foot  is  in  ice  and  its  head  in  fire.  Even  at  the  outlet  of 
the  snow,  the  torrent,  whose  milky  water  seems  to  be 


112  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

composed  of  barely  melted  ice,  folds  in  its  arms  a  bloom- 
ing islet,  a  charming  bouquet,  with  ever-shivering  stems. 
Farther  on  the  bed  of  snow,  shielded  from  the  sun's  rays 
by  the  shadow  of  the  rock,  is  dotted  all  over  with  flow- 
ers; the  soft  temperature  which  they  shed  has  thawed 
the  surrounding  ice;  they  seem  to  spring  from  a  crystal 
chalice  whose  base  the  shadow  has  dyed  blue.  Other 
more  sensitive  flowers  dare  not  undergo  immediate  con- 
tact with  the  snow,  but  take  care  to  surround  themselves 
with  a  soft  robe  of  moss;  they  are  like  rubies  reposing 
upon  a  green -velvet  cushion  in  the  centre  of  a  white 
downy  bed. 

Forests  alternate  with  the  grassy  surface  on  the  moun- 
tain's sides,  but  not  at  haphazard.  The  presence  of  big 
trees  always  indicates  sufficiently  deep  vegetable  mould 
and  abundance  of  water  for  irrigation  upon  the  slopes 
which  produce  them ;  thus,  thanks  to  the  distribution  of 
forests  and  pastures,  we  can  read  from  afar  some  of  the 
mountain's  secrets,  provided,  at  least,  that  man  has  not 
rudely  interfered  by  hewing  down  the  trees  and  modify- 
ing the  aspect  of  the  heights.  There  are  whole  regions 
where  man,  greedy  to  enrich  himself,  has  cut  down  every 
tree ;  not  even  a  stump  remains,  for  the  winter's  snow, 
no  longer  arrested  by  the  living  barrier,  can  henceforth 
slide  freely  down  during  the  season  of  the  avalanches ; 
it  denudes  the  ground,  planes  it  away  to  the  rock,  drag- 
ging with  it  all  the  remains  of  the  roots. 

The  ancient  feeling  of  veneration  has  almost  disap- 
peared. Formerly  the  woodcutter  never  approached  a 
forest  without  dread;  the  wind  which  he  heard  sighing 
was  for  him  as  the  voice  of  the  gods ;  supernatural  be- 
ings were  concealed  beneath  the  oak,  and  the  sap  of  the 


FORESTS  AND   PASTURES.  113 

tree  was  equally  divine  blood.  When  obliged  to  lay  the 
axe  to  the  trunks,  he  did  it  in  trembling:  "If  thou  art  a 
god,  if  thou  art  a  goddess,"  would  say  the  Apennine 
mountaineer — "  if  thou  art  a  god,  pardon  me ;"  and  he 
would  repeat  the  prayers  ordained ;  but  was  he  reassured 
after  these  genuflections  ? 

While  swinging  his  axe,  he  saw  the  branches  wave  to 
and  fro  above  his  head ;  the  wrinkles  of  the  bark  ap- 
peared to  assume  an  angry  expression,  to  be  animated 
by  a  terrible  glance;  at  the  first  blow  the  moist  wood 
might  have  been  the  rosy  flesh  of  a  nymph.  "  No  doubt 
the  priest  has  sanctioned,  but  what  will  the  divinity  say  ? 
Will  not  the  axe  suddenly  rebound,  and  plunge  into  the 
body  of  him  who  wields  it  ?" 

Some  trees  are  still  worshipped ;  the  mountaineer  does 
not  know  why,  and  does  not  like  to  be  interrogated  on 
that  point;  but  still,  in  many  places,  we  see  oaks  re- 
spected by  the  inhabitants,  who  have  surrounded  them 
with  palings,  to  protect  them  against  animals  and  wan- 
dering travellers.  In  ancient  Brittany,  when  a  man  was 
in  danger  of  death,  and  no  priest  was  to  be  found  in  the 
vicinity,  he  might  make  his  confession  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree ;  the  branches  heard,  and  their  rustling  bore  the  dy- 
ing man's  last  prayer  to  heaven. 

All  the  same,  if  here  and  there  some  venerable  trunk 
is  respected,  in  memory  of  olden  times,  the  forest  itself 
no  longer  inspires  holy  terror;  in  our  days  the  wood- 
cutters do  not  stand  upon  such  ceremony  as  their  ances- 
tors, especially  when  not  making  an  onslaught  on  woods 
serving  as  a  barrier  against  avalanches.  It  is  sufficient 
for  them  if  only  they  can  cultivate  the  trees  in  a  profita- 
ble manner ;  that  is  to  say,  gain  more  by  the  sale  of  the 


114  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

timber  than  they  have  to  expend  on  cutting  down  and 
transporting  it.  Numbers  of  forests  still  stand  in  their 
primeval  virgin  state,  owing  to  the  difficulty  the  culti- 
vator finds  in  reaching  them  and  sending  away  the  cut- 
down  trees.  But  when  the  means  of  access  are  easy, 
when  the  mountains  offer  good  slides  down  which,  with 
one  single  push,  hundreds  of  yards  of  dismantled  trunks 
can  be  sent ;  when,  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  the  torrent 
in  the  valley  is  strong  enough  to  carry  the  trees  in  rafts 
as  far  as  the  plains,  or  to  be  able  to  turn  powerful  me- 
chanical saws,  then  the  forests  run  great  risk  of  being 
attacked  by  wood-cutters.  If  they  cultivate  intelligently, 
if  they  carefully  regulate  their  cutting  in  such  a  manner 
as  always  to  leave  harvests  of  wood  standing  for  the  fol- 
lowing years,  and  to  develop  in  the  forest  ground  the 
greatest  possible  power  of  production,  man  has  but  to 
congratulate  himself  upon  the  new  riches  he  obtains. 
But  when  he  hews  down  and  destroys  the  whole  forest 
at  one  blow,  as  if  seized  with  a  fit  of  frenzy,  is  not  one 
tempted  to  curse  ? 

The  beauty  of  the  forests  still  left  to  us  upon  the 
mountain  slopes  makes  us  regret  all  the  more  those  of 
which  violent  speculators  have  robbed  us.  Upon  the 
first  slopes,  near  the  plains,  clumps  of  chestnuts  have 
been  spared,  thanks  to  their  leaves,  which  the  peasants 
collect  for  their  cattle's  litter,  and  to  their  fruit,  which 
the  people  themselves  eat  of  a  winter's  evening.  Few 
forests,  even  in  the  tropical  regions,  where  we  see  trees 
of  the  most  diverse  natures  alternate,  present  greater 
picturesqueness  and  variety  than  do  chestnut-woods.  The 
turf-clad  slopes  extended  at  the  foot  of  the  trees  are  suffi- 
ciently clear  from  brushwood  to  permit  many  views  be- 


FORESTS  AND  PASTURES.  115 

neath  the  spreading  branches  to  be  freely  opened  out  be- 
fore our  gaze.  In  many  places  the  verdant  vault  allows 
the  light  of  heaven  to  pass  through;  the  gray  of  the 
shadows  and  the  soft  yellow  of  the  rays  nicker  with  the 
motion  of  the  foliage ;  the  mosses  and  lichens  covering 
the  rough  bark  with  their  mantle  add  to  the  sweetness  of 
these  fugitive  lights  and  shadows.  The  trees  themselves 
either  rise  up  solitarily  or  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  dif- 
fering in  form  and  aspect.  Almost  all,  by  the  grooves 
in  their  bark  and  the  spreading  of  their  boughs,  seem  to 
have  been  subjected  to  a  sort  of  twisting  from  left  to 
right ;  but  while  some  possess  tolerably  smooth  boles  and 
regularly  bifurcated  branches,  others  display  curious  pro- 
tuberances, knots,  excrescences,  strangely  adorned  with 
tufts  of  leaves.  There  are  old  trees,  with  enormous  trunks, 
which  have  lost  all  their  big  branches  beneath  the  vio- 
lence of  storms,  and  have  replaced  them  by  little  twigs 
pointed  like  spears ;  others  have  retained  their  boughs, 
but  have  decayed  internally;  time  has  gnawed  away 
their  stems  by  hollowing  out  deep  cavities;  sometimes 
nothing  is  left  but  a  simple  shell  of  wood,  covered  with 
bark,  to  bear  the  whole  weight  of  the  upper  growth. 
Here  and  there,  too,  upon  the  ground  we  notice  the  re- 
mains of  a  bole  of  mighty  dimensions ;  the  tree  itself  has 
disappeared,  but  all  around  this  vegetable  ruin  chestnut- 
trees  grow  singly,  which  were  formerly  united  in  the  gi- 
gantic colonnade,  and  are  now  isolated,  shrunken,  limit- 
ed to  their  meagre  individuality.  Thus  the  forest  offers 
the  greatest  variety ;  side  by  side  with  well-grown  trees, 
superb  in  aspect  and  majestic  in  carriage,  are  groups 
whose  singular  forms  evoke  before  our  imagination  the 
monsters  of  fables  or  dreams. 


116  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

Far  less  varied  in  their  manners  are  the  beeches,  which 
delight  in  forming  a  forest  as  much  as  do  the  chestnuts. 
Almost  all  are  upright  as  columns,  and  long  open  spaces 
between  their  shafts  allow  our  gaze  to  extend  far  away. 
The  beeches  are  smooth  with  radiant  bark  and  lichens ; 
only  at  the  bottom  are  they  clad  with  green  moss ;  little 
tufts  of  leaves  here  and  there  adorn  the  lower  part  of 
the  stem  ;  but  it  is  about  fifteen  yards  above  the  ground 
that  the  branches  begin  to  spread  out  and  unite  tree  to 
tree  in  one  continued  vault,  pierced  by  parallel  rays  neck- 
ing the  ground.  The  forest's  aspect  is  severe,  yet  hospi- 
table ;  a  soft  light  composed  of  all  these  radiant  clusters, 
dyed  green  by  the  reflections  of  the  leaves,  fills  the  ave- 
nue and  blends  with  their  gloom,  producing  a  vague  ash- 
en-hued  day,  void  of  all  flashes  of  light  and  yet  of  all 
darkness.  In  this  light  we  can  clearly  distinguish  every- 
thing living  at  the  foot  of  these  great  trees:  the  creep- 
ing insects,  the  tiny  waving  flowers,  the  fungi  and  moss- 
es carpeting  the  soil  and  roots ;  but  upon  the  trees  them- 
selves the  white  or  golden-yellow  lichens  and  rays  are 
mingled  in  confusion.  The  beech  forest  constantly 
changes  its  aspect,  according  to  the  season.  When  au- 
tumn comes,  its  foliage  is  tinted  with  a  diversity  of  hues 
wherein  brown  and  red  shades  predominate ;  it  then  with- 
ers and  falls  to  the  ground,  covering  this  with  thick  beds 
of  dried  leaves,  quivering  in  the  least  breath  of  air.  The 
sunlight  penetrates  freely  into  the  forest  between  its  bare 
branches,  but  so  do  the  snow  and  fog ;  the  wood  remains 
sad  and  melancholy  until  spring  arrives,  when  its  early 
flowers  open  out  beside  the  flakes  of  melting  snow,  when 
the  blushing  buds  spread  over  the  branches  like  a  vague 
gleam  of  dawn. 


FORESTS  AND  PASTURES.  H7 

The  forest  of  .firs,  growing  at  the  same  elevation  as  the 
beeches  upon  the  mountain's  side,  but  in  a  different  situ- 
ation, is  gloomy  and  forbidding  in  a  very  dissimilar  man- 
ner. It  seems  to  be  guarding  some  terrible  secret;  dull 
noises  issue  from  its  branches,  then  die  away,  to  be  re- 
newed again  like  the  distant  murmuring  of  waves.  But 
it  is  up  above,  among  the  boughs,  that  this  noise  is  prop- 
agated ;  below  all  is  calm,  impassive,  sinister ;  the  branch- 
es, laden  with  their  dark  foliage,  bend  almost  to  the 
ground;  we  shudder  as  we  pass  beneath  these  gloomy 
vaults.  When  winter  loads  their  stalwart  boughs  with 
snow,  they  will  not  give  way,  or  allow  more  than  a  sil- 
very dust  to  fall  upon  the  sward.  Any  one  would  say 
that  these  trees  possessed  a  tenacious  will,  the  more  pow- 
erful in  that  they  are  all  dominated  by  one  and  the  same 
idea.  When  climbing  up  through  the  forest  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain,  we  see  that  the  trees  have  to  make 
a  greater  struggle  to  keep  themselves  alive  in  the  chilly 
atmosphere.  Their  bark  is  rougher,  their  trunks  less 
straight,  their  branches  more  gnarled,  their  foliage  hard- 
er, less  abundant;  they  could  not  resist  the  snow,  the 
tempests,  the  cold,  save  for  the  shelter  which  they 
furnish  one  another;  isolated,  they  would  perish;  united 
as  a  forest,  they  continue  to  live.  Yet  when,  on  the  side 
of  the  peak,  the  trees  forming  the  first  defensive  palisade 
begin  to  give  way  at  any  one  point,  their  neighbors  are 
soon  shaken  and  thrown  down  by  the  storm.  The  forest 
presents  itself  as  an  army,  placing  its  trees  in  a  row  like 
soldiers  in  battle  array.  Only  one  or  two  firs,  more  ro- 
bust than  the  rest,  remain  in  front  like  champions.  Se- 
curely anchored  upon  the  rock,  resting  upon  their  thick- 
set loins,  covered  with  wrinkles  and  knots  as  if  with  ar- 


118  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

raor,  they  defy  the  storm,  and  here  and  there  proudly 
shake  their  little  plume  of  leaves.  I  saw  one  of  these 
heroes  who  had  taken  possession  of  an  isolated  peak,  and 
thence  overlooked  an  immense  tract  of  dales  and  ravines. 
Its  roots,  which  the  very  shallow  vegetable  mould  had 
not  been  able  to  cover,  enveloped  the  rock  for  a  great 
distance;  creeping  and  tortuous  as  serpents,  they  unite 
again  in  a  single  low  gnarled  trunk,  which  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  the  mountain.  The  branches  of  the  strug- 
gling tree  had  become  contorted  beneath  the  efforts  of 
the  wind ;  but,  firmly  united,  they  can  still  brave  the  on- 
slaught of  a  hundred  tempests. 

Trees  will  still  grow  above  the  forest  of  pines  and  its 
little  outpost,  exposed  to  every  storm ;  but  they  are  of  a 
species  which,  far  from  soaring  straight  up  to  heaven, 
rather  creep  along  the  ground,  and  glide  timidly  into  the 
surface  irregularities  to  escape  from  the  wind  and  cold. 
They  develop  in  breadth  ;  the  branches,  serpentine  as 
the  roots,  stretch  out  above  them  and  take  advantage  of 
the  small  amount  of  heat  radiating  from  them  ;  it  is  thus 
that  sheep  crowd  up  one  against  another  to  keep  warm  . 
during  the  winter  nights.  By  making  themselves  small, 
and  presenting  but  slight  resistance  to  the  storm  and  a 
small  surface  to  the  cold,  the  juniper-trees  of  the  moun- 
tain succeed  in  preserving  their  existence:  we  still  see 
them  creeping  towards  the  snowy  summits,  hundreds  of 
yards  above  the  fir,  daring  as  it  is  in  its  ascent.  In  the 
same  way,  shrubs,  such  as  alpine  roses  and  heaths,  con- 
trive to  raise  themselves  to  great  altitudes ;  owing  to  the 
spherical  or  domelike  form  possessed  by  all  the  stems 
pressed  close  up  together,  the  wind  readily  passes  over 
these  vegetable  balls.  Higher  up,  however,  indeed,  they 


FORESTS  AND  PASTURES.  119 

are  obliged  to  relinquish  their  conflict  with  the  cold; 
they  give  place  to  the  mosses  spreading  out  over  the 
ground,  to  the  lichens  incorporating  themselves  with 
the  rock.  From  the  stone  vegetation  came,  to  it  vege- 
tation must  return. 


120  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   ANIMALS   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN. 

* 

RICH  in  its  growth  of  forests,  shrubs,  grass,  and  moss, 
the  mountain  seems  to  be  very  poor  in  animals ;  it  would 
appear  to  Be  almost  utterly  deserted  had  shepherds  not 
led  to  it  their  herds  of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep,  which 
we  can  see  a  great  way  off  upon  the  green  pastures  like 
red  or  white  specks,  and  if  the  ever-zealous  sheep-dogs 
did  not  incessantly  run  from  right  to  left,  making  the 
rocks  resound  with  their  barking.  They  are  temporary 
emigrants  who  have  come  up  from  the  low  plains  in 
spring-time,  and  must  return  there  in  the  winter,  unless 
they  be  concealed  in  the  depths  of  cattle  -  sheds  in  the 
hamlets  of  the  valley.  The  only  children  of  the  moun- 
tain to  be  met  with  while  climbing  the  acclivities  are 
insects  crossing  the  footpaths  and  gliding  through  the 
grass ;  butterflies,  among  which  we  see  the  black  Erebus, 
with  its  changing  reflections,  and  the  magnificent  Apollo, 
that  living  flower  fluttering  above  other  flowers,  are  buzz- 
ing in  the  air ;  here  and  there  some  reptile  steals  away 
between  two  stones.  The  forests  are  very  mute ;  rarely 
are  birds  to  be  heard  singing  in  them. 

Yet  the  mountain,  a  natural  fortress  rising  up  in  the 
midst  of  plains,  has  its  visitors  too ;  some,  timid  fugitives 
seeking  an  inaccessible  retreat ;  others,  daring  robbers, 


THE  ANIMALS   OF   THE  MOUNTAIN.  121 

beasts  of  prey,  which,  from  the  height  of  their  watch- 
towers,  scan  the  horizon  from  afar  before  rushing  out 
upon  their  pillaging  expeditious.  It  is  a  strange  fact, 
teaching  us  only  too  well  to  understand  man's  cowardice, 
that  the  beasts  of  the  mountain  which  destroy  and  kill 
one  another  are  precisely  those  which  we  most  admire. 
We  should  readily  convert  them  into  kings;  and  in  all 
myths,  fables,  legends,  and  many  an  old  book  of  natural 
history,  that  name  is  really  given  to  them. 

To  begin  with,  there  are  the  eagle  and  other  rapacious 
birds  of  prey,  which  all  the  lords  of  the  earth  have 
chosen  as  emblems,  sometimes  endowing  them  with  two 
heads,  as  if  they  themselves  would  like  to  have  two  beaks 
wherewith  to  devour.  The  eagle  is  beautiful  when  he  is 
proudly  perched  upon  a  rock,  inaccessible  to  man,  and 
much  more  magnificent  still  when  he  sails  tranquilly 
through  the  air,  lord  of  the  skies ;  but  what  signifies  his 
beauty  ?  If  the  king  admires,  the  shepherd  hates  him. 
He  is  the  enemy  of  the  flock,  and  its  keeper  has  vowed 
war  to  the  death  against  him.  Soon,  eagles,  vultures, 
and  griffins  shall  exist  nowhere,  save  in  our  museums ; 
even  now  in  many  mountains  not  a  single  nest  is  to  be 
seen,  or,  if  one  does  remain,  it  contains  but  a  solitary  de- 
fiant bird,  so  old  as  to  be  semi-impotent,  and  to  be  eaten 
up  by  parasites. 

The  bear  is  also  a  destroyer  of  sheep ;  and,  sooner  or 
later,  the  shepherd  will  exterminate  him  in  our  moun- 
tains. Despite  his  prodigious  strength,  and  the  skill  with 
which  he  can  crush  bones,  he  is  not  the  favorite  of  kings, 
who  doubtlessly  do  not  consider  him  sufficiently  graceful 
to  assign  to  him  a  place  in  their  escutcheons ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  many  a  tribe  cherishes  him  for  the  sake  of 


122  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

his  qualities.  And  even  the  huntsman  who  pursues  can- 
not resist  a  certain  affection  for  him.  The  Ostiak,  after 
having  dealt  his  death-blow  and  having  stretched  him 
bleeding  on  the  snow,  throws  himself  upon  his  knees  be- 
fore the  corpse  to  implore  its  forgiveness :  "  I  have  killed 
you,  O  my  God !  but  I  was  hungry,  my  family  was  hun- 
gry, and  you  are  so  good  that  you  will  pardon  my  crime." 
Yet  the  bear  does  not  impress  us  as  being  a  deity;  but 
how  honest,  frank,  and  benevolent  he  seems !  How  he 
appears  to  practise  all  the  family  virtues!  How  gentle 
he  is  towards  his  young,  and  how  gay,  frisky,  and  frolic- 
some are  they !  We  must  go  to  the  bear's  den,  or  his 
enormous  lair  comfortably  carpeted  with  moss,  to  find 
those  patriarchal  customs  which  have  been  so  greatly 
vaunted.  It  is  true  that  from  time  to  time  the  huge  an- 
imal gives  a  fatal  bite  to  the  shepherd's  flock ;  but  is  he 
not,  as  a  rule,  sobriety  itself?  He  contents  himself  with 
browsing  on  leaves,  feeding  on  whortleberries,  devouring 
combs  of  honey;  perhaps  he  may  even  venture  down 
into  the  valley,  calmly  to  eat  grapes  and  pears.  A  Swiss 
naturalist,  Tsendi,  asserts,  upon  his  honor,  that  if,  on  his 
way,  the  honest  beast  should  meet  a  little  girl  carrying  a 
basket  of  strawberries,  he  would  content  himself  with 
delicately  placing  his  paw  upon  the  basket  to  ask  for  his 
share.  And  when  he  has  entered  man's  employment  he 
is  willing,  good-humored,  magnanimous,  and  contempt- 
uous of  insults !  I  cannot  refrain  from  regretting  this 
good  beast,  whom  we  shall  soon  see  no  more  in  our  moun- 
tains, and  whose  paws  the  huntsman  proudly  nails  up 
against  his  barn-door.  The  race  will  be  suppressed,  but 
with  what  superior  intelligence  might  we  not  have  tamed 
and  admitted  him  to  take  part  in  our  labors  ? 


THE  ANIMALS   OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  1^3 

As  to  the  wolf,  no  one  will  regret  him  when  he  shall 
have  entirely  disappeared  from  the  mountain.  He  is  a 
thoroughly  malevolent,  perfidious,  sanguinary,  cowardly, 
vile  fellow.  He  thinks  of  nothing  but  tearing  his  victim 
to  pieces,  and  drinking  the  warm  blood  as  it  flows  from 
the  wound.  All  animals  hate  him,  and  he  hates  them ; 
yet  he  only  ventures  to  attack  the  feeble  and  wounded. 
The  madness  of  hunger  alone  urges  him  to  throw  him- 
self upon  those  who  are  stronger  than  himself.  But  then 
with  what- eagerness  does  he  rush  upon  a  fallen  prey,  an 
enemy  who  cannot  defend  himself !  Even  when  a  wolf 
falls,  still  alive,  beneath  the  huntsman's  bullet,  all  his 
companions  cast  themselves  upon  him  to  complete  the 
work  and  to  quarrel  over  his  carcass.  Certainly  blood- 
thirsty Koine  has  charged  her  memory  with  all  imagina- 
ble crimes;  she  has  razed  thousands  of  towns, destroyed 
millions  of  human  beings,  gorged  herself  with  the  earth's 
riches.  By  violence  and  perfidy,  by  infamies  without 
number,  she  became  the  queen  of  the  ancient  world  ;  and 
yet,  in  spite  of  all  her  crimes,  she  has  calumniated  her- 
self by  claiming  a  she-wolf  as  her  mother  and  patroness. 
That  people,  whose  laws  under  another  guise  still  gov- 
ern us,  were  certainly  hard,  almost  ferocious,  but  yet  not 
so  bad  as  the  symbol  chosen  by  them  would  lead  us  to 
believe. 

It  is  a  satisfaction  for  any  one  who  loves  the  moun- 
tain to  know  that  the  wolf,  that  odious  creature,  is  an 
animal  belonging  to  wide  plains.  The  destruction  of  his 
native  forests  and  the  increasing  number  of  huntsmen 
have  obliged  him  to  seek  refuge  in  the  gorges  of  the 
heights,  but  he  is  none  the  less  an  intruder ;  he  is  so  or- 
ganized as  to  be  able  to  perform,  in  one  stage,  journeys 


124  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

of  fifty  miles  across  the  steppes,  not  to  climb  the  acclivi- 
ties of  rocks.  The  animal,  the  form  of  whose  body  and 
the  elasticity  of  whose  muscles  render  him  best  adapted 
for  springing  from  rock  to  rock,  for  crossing  crevasses,  is 
the  graceful  chamois,  the  antelope  of  our  countries.  He 
is  the  true  inhabitant  of  the  mountain ;  no  precipice 
alarms,  no  slope  of  snow  stays  him ;  in  a  few  bounds  he 
climbs  dizzy  escarpments  where  the  most  eager  hunts- 
man dare  not  venture.  With  one  leap  he  springs  on  to 
points  smaller  than  the  space  which  his  four  feet,  closely 
put  together,  would  cover;  certainly  he  is  an  animal  be- 
longing to  the  earth,  but  any  one  would  believe  him  to 
be  winged.  Then,  too,  he  is  gentle  and  sociable ;  he 
\vould  love  to  mingle  with  our  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep. 
No  doubt,  a  few  efforts  would  suffice  to  add  him  to  our 
small  category  of  domestic  animals ;  but  it  is  easier  to 
kill  than  to  rear  him,  and  the  few  chamois  still  left  are 
reserved  for  the  delight  of  sportsmen.  In  all  probability, 
that  race  will  soon  disappear.  After  all,  is  it  not  better 
to  die  than  to  live  a  slave? 

Other  animals  have  chosen  their  dwelling  higher  still 
than  the  chamois,  upon  the  slopes  and  rocks  surrounded 
on  every  side  by  snow.  One  of  them  is  a  species  of  hare, 
which  has  understood  cunningly  to  change  his  livery  in 
such  a  manner,  according  to  the  season,  as  alwa}7s  to  be 
indistinguishable  from  the  surrounding  soil.  It  is  thus 
that  he  escapes  the  eagle's  piercing  eye.  In  winter,  when 
all  the  slopes  are  clad  with  snow,  his  fur  is  as  white  as 
the  flakes ;  in  spring,  tufts  of  plants  and  pebbles  appear 
here  and  there  through  the  snowy  bed,  simultaneously 
the  animal's  coat  becomes  dotted  with  gray  spots;  in 
summer  he  is  the  color  of  stones  and  burnt-up  grass ; 


THE    GRACEFUL    CHAMOIS, 


THE  ANIMALS  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  125 

then,  with  the  sudden  change  of  season,  lie  again  as  sud- 
denly changes  his  skin.  Still  better  protected,  the  mar- 
mot passes  his  winter  in  a  deep  hole,  where  the  tempera- 
ture always  remains  equable,  in  spite  of  the  thick  layers 
of  snow  covering  the  ground  ;  and  during  whole  months 
he  suspends  the  course  of  his  life,  until  the  perfume  of 
flowers  and  the  rays  of  spring  come  to  awaken  him  from 
his  lethargic  sleep.  At  last,  one  of  those  ever-active,  ever- 
wakeful  rodents  which  we  encounter  everywhere  has 
undertaken  to  reach  the  summit  of  the  mountains  by 
hollowing  out  tunnels  and  galleries  beneath  the  snow — I 
mean  a  field-mouse.  Covered  with  this  cold  mantle,  he 
seeks  his  meagre  nourishment  in  the  ground,  and,  won- 
derful to  relate,  finds  it ! 

Such  is  the  fertility  of  the  earth  that  it  brings  forth, 
for  the  incessant  battle  of  life,  populations  of  consumers 
and  victims  who  carry  on  their  conflicts  in  obscurity 
more  than  a  thousand  yards  above  the  limit  of  perpetual 
snow !  Here  again,  beneath  the  beds  of  the  frozen  earth, 
I  find  once  more  that  terrible  struggle  for  existence,  the 
almost  invariably  hideous  spectacle  of  which  had  driven 
me  from  the  plains. 

Frequently  the  bird  of  prey  soars  higher  still,  but  it  is 
to  travel  from  one  mountain  slope  to  another,  or  to  gaze 
far  away  over  the  extensive  country  and  to  discover  his 
quarry.  The  butterflies  and  dragon-flies,  carried  away 
by  the  delight  of  flying  up  towards  the  sun,  sometimes 
ascend  as  far  as  the  loftiest  zone  of  the  mountains,  and, 
without  foreseeing  the  cold  of  the  night,  do  not  cease 
gayly  to  mount  towards  the  light.  More  frequently  still 
those  poor  little  creatures,  such  as  flies  and  other  insects, 
are  carried  off  to  the  lofty  peaks  by  hurricanes,  and  their 

7 


126  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

remains,  mingled  with  the  dust,  are  strewn  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  snow.  But  in  addition  to  these  strangers 
who,  either  voluntarily  or  by  force,  visit  the  regions  of  si- 
lence and  death,  there  are  other  indigenous  dwellers  who 
are  quite  at  home  there;  they  do  not  find  the  atmos- 
phere too  cold  or  the  ground  too  hardly  frozen.  The 
immense  dreary  tract  of  snow  lies  extended  around  them  ; 
but  the  points  of  the  rocks,  which  here  and  there  pierce 
the  snowy  couch,  are  for  them  an  oasis  in  the  midst  of 
the  desert :  it  is  there,  no  doubt,  among  these  lichens,  that 
they  find  the  nourishment  necessary  for  their  subsistence. 
It  is  marvellous  how  they  thrive,  and  naturalists  ascer- 
tain the  fact  with  astonishment. 

Spiders,  insects,  or  snow-maggots — all  these  tiny  creat- 
ures must  know  hunger ;  and  perhaps  the  divers  phenom- 
ena of  their  life  are  effected  extremely  slowly.  In  this 
region  of  hoar-frost  the  chrysalides  must  remain  a  long 
time  buried  in  their  apparent  sleep  of  death. 

Not  only  does  life  exhibit  itself  by  the  side  of  snow, 
but  the  snow  itself  appears  animate  in  certain  places,  so 
greatly  do  these  animalcula  multiply.  Far  away  we  see 
great  red  or  yellow  spots  on  the  white  expanse.  It  is  the 
snow  rotting,  the  mountaineers  say ;  they  arise,  say  the 
savants,  armed  with  microscopes,  from  millions  and  mill- 
ions of  crawling  creatures,  who  live,  love,  propagate,  and 
eat  one  another  up. 


GRADATIONS  OF  CLIMATE.  127 


•CHAPTER  XVI. 

GRADATIONS    OF    CLIMATE. 

THOSE  naturalists  who  wander  about  the  mountain, 
studying  the  living  creatures,  plants,  or  animals  inhabit- 
ing it,  do  not  confine  themselves  to  studying  each  species 
in  its  actual  form  and  habits;  they  also  desire  to  know 
the  extent  of  its  domain,  the  general  distribution  of  its 
representatives  upon  the  slopes,  and  the  history  of  its 
race.  They  consider  the  countless  creatures  of  each  spe- 
cies— plants,  insects,  or  mammalia — as  one  immense  in- 
dividual, whose  abodes  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and 
whose  duration  during  the  course  of  ages,  we  ought  thor- 
oughly to  understand. 

In  climbing  up  the  side  of  a  mountain,  the  traveller 
first  remarks  how  very  few  are  the  plants  which  accom- 
pany him  to  the  summit.  Those  which  he  saw  at  the 
bottom,  and  on  the  lower  levels,  he  does  not  meet  again 
upon  the  more  elevated  slopes;  or,  if  a  few  should  still 
exist  there,  they  disappear  in  the  vicinity  of  the  snow,  to 
be  replaced  by  other  species.  It  is  one  constant  change 
in  the  aspect  of  the  flora  as  we  approach  the  frigid  peaks. 
But  when  a  plant  indigenous  to  the  lower  hills  contin- 
ues to  exhibit  itself  beside  the  footpath  close  to  the  snow, 
it  appears  gradually  to  change ;  down  below,  the  flower 
has  already  faded,  while  on  the  heights  it  is  hardly  yet 


128  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

in  bud ;  here  it  has  already  spent  its  summer,  yonder  up 
above  it  is  yet  in  spring. 

We  could  not  measure  with  a  cord  the  exact  elevation 
at  which  this  plant  ceases  to  grow  and  that  one  makes 
its  first  appearance.  A  thousand  conditions  of  soil  and 
climate  labor  incessantly  to  displace,  to  widen,  or  to  con- 
tract the  limits  separating  the  natural  domains  of  the  va- 
rious species.  When  the  ground  changes,  rock  succeed- 
ing soil,  or  clay  replacing  sand,  a  great  number  of  plants 
also  give  way  to  one  another.  Contrasts  bring  about 
similar  results;  as,  for  instance,  whether  water  washes 
away  the  earth,  or  there  is  a  deficiency  of  it  in  the 
parched-up  ground ;  whether  the  wind  whistles  freely  in 
all  its  fury,  or  it  encounters  obstacles  acting  as  protec- 
tion against  its  violence.  At  the  outlet  of  those  necks 
of  mountains  where  the  hurricanes  blow  hardest,  certain 
slopes  are  so  completely  swept  by  the  bitter  blast  that 
trees  and  shrubs  as  suddenly  cease  to  grow  beneath  this 
formidable  breeze  as  they  would  before  a  wall  of  ice. 
Elsewhere  the  vegetation  varies  according  to  the  steep- 
ness of  the  slopes.  Nothing  but  moss  grows  upon  verti- 
cal cliffs ;  brushwood  only  can  find  a  footing  upon  the 
dry,  steep  walls  of  precipices ;  where  the  incline,  al- 
though less  sharp,  is  yet  inaccessible  to  man,  trees  creep 
along  rocks  and  anchor  their  roots  in  the  fissures;  on 
the  other  hand,  upon  the  terraces  their  trunks  rise  up 
erectly,  and  their  foliage  spreads  out.  The  nature  of  the 
trees  usually  varies  as  greatly  as  their  elevation.  Wher- 
ever the  difference  of  the  slopes  is  caused  by  the  rocky 
strata,  being  more  or  less  injured  by  atmospheric  agents, 
the  mountain  presents  a  succession  of  parallel  tiers  of 
vegetation  of  the  most  curious  effect.  Both  stones  and 
plants  change  in  regular  alternations. 


"  FIR-TREES,   \VITH    THEIR    SOMBRE    BRAXCHKS." 


GRADATIONS  OF  CLIMATE.  129 

Of  all  the  contrasts  of  vegetation,  the  most  important, 
upon  the  whole,  is  that  which  is  caused  by  the  different 
degrees  of  exposure  to  the  sun's  rays.  How  many  times 
— when  penetrating  into  a  very  regular  valley,  overlooked 
by  uniform  slopes,  the  one  turned  to  the  north,  the  other 
exposed  to  the  due  south — can  we  see  how  this  difference 
of  light  and  heat  modifies  vegetation  on  the  two  sides 
of  the  mountain  !  The  contrast  is  frequently  absolute ; 
they  might  be  two  regions  of  the  eartli  some  hundreds 
of  miles  apart.  On  one  side  are  fruit-trees,  cultivated 
lands,  rich  meadows ;  facing  it,  nor  fields  nor  gardens, 
nothing  but  woods  and  pastures.  Even  the  forests 
growing  on  the  two  opposite  slopes  consist  of  totally 
different  species.  Up  yonder,  beneath  the  pale  light  re- 
flected by  the  northern  skies,  are  fir-trees  with  their  som- 
bre branches;  beneath  the  life-giving  brilliancy  of  the 
south  are  larches  of  a  tender  green,  luxuriant  as  an  im- 
mense espalier.  Man,  as  have  these  plants  which  strive 
to  expand  beneath  the  sun's  rays,  has  chosen  for  his 
abode  the  slopes  turned  towards  the  south.  On  yonder 
side  houses  border  the  roads  in  one  almost  continued 
line ;  snug  cottages  are  scattered,  like  gray  rocks,  upon 
the  upper  pastures.  On  the  other  cold  side  rising  up 
facing  it,  hardly  a  single  little  house  is  to  be  seen  shel- 
tering itself  within  the  bend  of  a  ravine. 

Very  different  are  the  mountain  slopes  in  aspect,  cli- 
mate, and  vegetation  ;  yet  all  possess  this  phenomenon  in 
common,  that  in  ascending  them  we  might  imagine  we 
were  going  towards  the  poles  of  the  world :  if  we  climb 
up  a  hundred  yards,  we  seem  as  if  we  were  transported- 
fifty  miles  farther  away  from  the  equator.  Yonder  peak 
which  we  see  rising  above  our  heads  contains  a  flora  sim- 


130  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

ilar  to  that  of  Scandinavia.  Let  us  pass  that  point  to  rise 
still  higher,  and  we  enter  Lapland  ;  at  another  still  great- 
er altitude  we  find  the  vegetation  of  Spitzbergen.  Each 
mountain  is,  in  its  plants,  a  sort  of  recapitulation  of  all 
the  country  extending  from  its  base  to  the  polar  regions, 
across  continents  and  oceans.  Botanists,  in  their  narra- 
tions, often  evince  the  joy,  the  emotion,  they  feel  when, 
after  having  climbed  the  naked  rocks,  crossed  the  snow, 
walked  beside  yawning  chasms,  they  at  last  reach  a  free 
spot,  a  "  garden,"  whose  blooming  plants  remind  them 
of  some  beloved  distant  northern  land,  their  own  country 
perhaps,  situated  millions  of  yards  away.  The  miracle 
of  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Nights"  is  being  realized  for 
them  at  the  cost  of  some  hours'  walking ;  here  they  are 
transported  into  another  nature,  beneath  another  climate. 
Every  year  some  violent  but  temporary  disturbances 
are  produced  in  this  regular  stratification  of  flowers. 
When  walking  amid  the  most  recent  landslips,  or  upon 
the  accumulations  of  earth  brought  by  the  torrents  from 
the  top  of  the  mountains,  the  botanist  frequently  ob- 
serves some  confusion  in  the  distribution  of  the  vegeta- 
ble tribes ;  these  are  phenomena  which  affect  him,  for 
the  result  of  studying  plants  is  that  he  ends  by  sympa- 
thizing with  them.  This  sight,  making  his  heart  beat, 
is  caused  by  the  forcible  expatriation  of  plants  and 
mosses  violently  carried  away  into  a  climate  for  which 
they  were  not  created.  In  their  fall  or  descent  from  the 
top  of  the  upper  slopes,  the  rocks  brought  with  them 
their  flowers,  seeds,  roots,  whole  stems.  As  would  the 
fragments  of  a  distant  planet  which  might  land  the  in- 
habitants of  another  world  upon  the  earth,  these  rocks, 
descended  from  the  summit,  serve  as  a  means  of  convey- 


GRADATIONS  OF  CLIMATE.  131 

ance  for  colonies  of  plants.  The  poor  little  things,  as- 
tonished to  be  breathing  another  atmosphere,  to  find 
themselves  amid  other  conditions  of  cold  and  heat,  of 
dryness  and  moisture,  of  light  and  shadow,  strive  to  be- 
come acclimatized  in  their  new  country.  Some  strangers 
succeed  in  holding  their  own  against  the  throng  of  native 
plants  surrounding  them,  but  the  greatest  number  have 
hard  work  to  form  themselves  into  groups,  to  keep  close 
together  like  refugees ;  hated  by  all  the  world,  and  lov- 
ing one  another  all  the  more  fondly,  they  are  doomed 
soon  to  perish.  Attacked  on  every  side  by  the  ancient 
possessors  of  the  soil,  they  end  by  relinquishing  the  place 
which  the  fall  of  their  mother-rock  had  obliged  them  to 
take  by  force.  The  botanist,  studying  them  in  their 
novel  surroundings,  sees  them  perish  by  degrees;  after 
some  years'  sojourn,  the  colonies  are  composed  of  but  a 
small  number  of  miserable  individuals,  then  even  these 
remaining  creatures  are  finally  extinguished.  It  is  thus 
that  in  our  human  race  strange  colonies  successively  die 
in  the  midst  of  a  people  which  hates  them,  and  beneath 
a  climate  that  is  adverse  to  them. 

Despite  temporary  irregularities,  the  stratification  of 
flowers  upon  the  mountains'  sides  does,  after  all,  pre- 
serve the  character  of  a  steadfast  law. 

Whence  proceeds  this  strange  distribution  of  plants  on 
the  globe's  surface?  Why  have  the  original  species  of 
the  most  distant  countries  thus  herded  in  tiny  colonies 
on  the  high  slopes  of  mountains  ?  No  doubt  the  pollen 
of  some  may  have  been  carried  by  birds,  or  even  by 
stormy  winds ;  but  most  of  these  species  possess  seeds  on 
which  no  birds  feed,  and  which  are  too  heavy  to  have 
adhered  to  their  feathers  or  claws.  Among  those  plants 

7* 


132  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

from  the  cold  regions  which  colonize  the  mountain  there 
are  even  entire  families  growing  from  bulbs;  and  cer- 
tainly neither  wind  nor  birds  could  have  carried  them 
across  continents  and  seas. 

Thus,  then,  these  plants  must  have  been  propagated 
from  one  place  to  another  by  gradual  encroachment,  as 
they  are  in  our  h'elds  and  meadows.  Small  colonists 
whom  we  now  see  in  the  high  "gardens"  surrounded 
with  snow  have  slowly  ascended  from  the  lower  plains ; 
while  other  plants  of  the  same  species,  moving  in  a  con- 
trary direction,  bend  their  steps  towards  the  polar  regions 
where  they  are  now  located.  No  doubt,  then,  the  cli- 
mate of  our  fields  was  as  cold  as  is  in  our  days  that  of 
the  most  elevated  summits  and  of  the  boreal  zone;  but 
little  by  little  the  temperature  becomes  softer,  the  plants 
which  luxuriated  in  the  rude,  cold  breeze  were  obliged 
to  take  flight,  the  one  to  the  north,  the  other  to  the 
slopes  of  the  mountains.  Of  these  two  fugitive  bands, 
separated  by  an  unceasingly  increasing  zone,  occupied  b}7 
hostile  species,  the  one,  that  which  retreated  towards  the 
mountains,  beheld  the  space  diminishing  before  it  pro- 
portionately with  the  augmenting  mildness  of  the  cli- 
mate :  first  it  occupied  the  lower  chains  of  the  base,  then 
the  medium  points,  then  the  lofty  peaks,  and  now  some 
have  for  their  last  refuge  the  supreme  ridges  of  the 
mountain.  When  the  climate  becomes  cold  again,  in 
consequence  of  some  cosmical  change,  the  little  plants 
will  recommence  their  journeys  towards  the  plain ;  vic- 
torious in  their  turn,  they  will  drive  away  before  them 
the  species  demanding  a  milder  temperature.  Accord- 
ing to  the  alternations  of  their  climates  and  of  their  im- 
mense cycles,  the  armies  of  plants  advance  or  retire  along 


GRADATIOXS   OF  CLIMATE.  133 

the  surface  of  the  globe,  leaving  behind  them  bands  of 
laggards  which  reveal  to  us  what  was  formerly  the  route 
of  the  main  body. 

The  same  phenomena  exist  among  human  tribes  as  in 
those  of  plants  and  animals.  During  the  variations  of 
the  climate,  the  people  of  the  different  races  who  could 
not  accommodate  themselves  to  the  changing  medium 
moved  slowly  northward  or  southward,  driven  away  by 
the  cold  or  excessive  heat.  Unhappily,  history,  which 
had  not  then  begun  to  exist,  has  not  been  able  to  relate 
to  us  this  wandering  to  and  fro  of  the  different  peoples ; 
besides  which,  in  his  great  migrations,  man  invariably 
obeys  a  variety  of  passions  which  he  cannot  analyze. 
How  many  tribes  have  thus  moved  and  changed  their 
dwelling  without  knowing  what  was  urging  them  for- 
ward !  They  then  related,  in  their  traditions,  how  they 
had  been  guided  by  a  star  or  a  pillar  of  fire— even  how 
they  had  followed  the  flight  of  an  eagle,  or  planted  their 
feet  in  the  tracks  left  by  the  sabot  of  a  bison. 

If  history  is  mute,  or  at  least  very  reticent,  as  to  the 
marches  and  counter-marches  imposed  upon  the  people 
by  the  changes  of  climate,  it  suffices,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  see  how,  upon  the  opposite  sides  of  most  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  differences  among  men  respond  to  those  of  the 
temperature  and  of  the  atmosphere.  When  the  contrast 
of  climate  on  each  side  of  the  mountain  is  very  slight, 
either  because  the  direction  of  the  whole  range  of  heights 
is  from  north  to  south,  or  because  winds  of  the  same  ori- 
gin, and  bringing  the  same  amount  of  moisture,  irrigate 
the  same  slopes,  then  the  men  of  one  and  the  same  race 
can  spread  freely  from  one  part  to  another ;  give  them- 
selves np  to  the  same  culture,  the  same  industries,  prac- 


134  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN, 

tise  the  same  customs.  The  wall  rising  up  between  them, 
and  which  is,  perhaps,  interrupted  with  numerous  breach- 
es, is  not  a  separating  rampart.  But  when,  every  here 
and  there,  one  of  the  slopes  belonging  to  the  mountain, 
and  the  whole  series  of  summits  attached  to  it,  are  turned 
to  the  north  and  its  cold  winds,  while  the  opposite  incline 
receives  an  abundance  of  soft  rays  from  the  south  ;  or, 
again,  when  on  one  side  the  vapors  of  the  sea  pour  down 
in  torrents,  while  on  the  other  side  the  ravines  always 
remain  dry,  then,  certainly,  flora,  fauna,  and  humanity, 
on  both  sides,  will  present  the  most  remarkable  contrasts. 
Each  step  made  by  the  traveller  after  he  has  attained  the 
crest  places  him  in  the  presence  of  a  new  nature ;  he 
penetrates  into  another  world,  where  discovery  succeeds 
discovery.  Now  he  stops  before  a  sweet-smelling  plant 
which  he  had  never  seen ;  a  strange  butterfly  flutters  be- 
fore him ;  while  he  is  studying  new  species,  vegetable 
or  animal,  or  is  seeking  to  explain  to  himself  all  the 
features  of  this  hitherto  unknown  nature,  a  shepherd 
comes  towards  him :  it  is  a  man  of  different  race,  of  dif- 
ferent civilization — his  very  speech  is  different. 

While  separating  two  zones  of  climate,  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  thus  also  separates  two  nations:  it  is  a  con- 
stant phenomenon  in  all  countries  of  the  world  where 
conquest  has  not  ruthlessly  mixed  or  suppressed  the 
races;  and,  even  in  spite  of  the  violence  of  conquests, 
this  normal  contrast  between  the  populations  of  the  two 
sides  has  been  frequently  re-established.  Take,  for  in- 
stance, the  history  of  Italy.  The  splendor  of  this  coun- 
try fascinated  the  barbarians  of  the  north  and  northeast. 
How  often  have  the  German  and  French  people,  attract- 
ed by  the  riches  of  its  territory,  by  the  treasures  of  its 


GRADATIONS  OF  CLIMATE.  135 

towns,  the  flavor  of  its  fruits,  the  beauty  of  its  women, 
flung  themselves  in  armed  bands  upon  the  plains  sur- 
rounded by  the  stupendous  barrier  of  the  Alps!  In 
vain  have  they  massacred,  burned,  destroyed;  in  vain 
installed  themselves  in  the  places  of  the  vanquished ; 
built  towns  and  constructed  citadels  for  themselves ;  the 
native  population  has  always  resumed  its  power,  and  the 
strangers,  Celts  or  Teutons,  have  been  obliged  to  recross 
the  Alps. 

The  mountains,- too,  relatively  insignificant  protuber- 
ances on  the  surface  of  the  globe,  simple  obstacles  which 
man  can  ordinarily  cross  in  one  day,  acquire  great  his- 
torical importance  as  the  natural  frontiers  between  the 
different  nations.  They  owe  this  role  in  the  life  of  man- 
kind less  to  the  want  of  roads,  to  the  steepness  of  their 
escarpments,  to  their  zone  of  snow  and  sterile  rocks, 
than  to  the  diversity,  and  frequently  to  the  hostility,  of 
the  populations  seated  at  the  two  opposite  bases.  The 
history  of  the  past  teaches  us  that  every  natural  boun- 
dary placed  between  two  peoples,  in  the  form  of  an  ob- 
stacle difficult  to  surmount — be  it  plateau,  mountain,  des- 
ert, or  river — was  at  the  same  time  a  moral  frontier  for 
mankind ;  just  as,  in  fairy  tales,  people  fortified  them- 
selves with  an  invisible  wall,  erected  by  hatred  and  con- 
tempt. Any  man  coming  from  beyond  the  mountains 
was  not  merely  a  stranger,  he  was  an  enemy.  The  na- 
tions hated  one  another ;  but  sometimes  a  shepherd,  su- 
perior to  all  his  race,  would  sweetly  sing  some  simple 
words  of  love  while  gazing  far  away  beyond  the  moun- 
tains. He,  at  least,  knew  how  to  surmount  the  lofty 
barrier  of  rocks  and  snow;  by  means  of  his  heart  he 
knew  how  to  make  a  home  for  himself  on  both  sides  of 


136  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

the  mountain.  One  of  our  old  Pyrenean  songs  relates 
this  triumph  of  love  over  nature,  and  over  the  traditions 
of  national  hatred : 

"  Baicha-bous,  montagnes!     Pianos,  haoussa-bous ; 
Daqne  pousqui  bede  oun  soun  mas  amons!1' 

"  Baissez-von«,  montagnes!   plaines.  liaussez-vous; 
Et  que  je  puis.se  voir  oil  sent  mes  amours!" 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER.  137 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   FREE   MOUNTAINEER. 

THE  crumpling-np  of  the  terrestrial  surface  into  moun- 
tains and  valleys  is  thus  a  leading  feature  in  the  history 
of  nations,  and  often  it  explains  their  journeys,  their  mi- 
grations, their  conflicts,  their  various  destinies ;  it  is  thus 
that  a  molehill,  rising  up  in  a  meadow,  in  the  midst  of 
eager  populations  of  insects  hurrying  to  and  fro,  imme- 
diately changes  all  their  plans,  and  causes  the  route  of 
the  travelling  tribes  to  diverge  in  various  directions. 

While  its  enormous  mass  separates  the  nations  beset- 
ting the  slopes  on  every  side,  the  mountain  also  protects 
the  inhabitants,  usually  very  few  in  number,  who  have 
come  to  seek  refuge  in  its  valleys.  It  shelters  them,  it 
makes  them  its  own,  imposes  special  customs  upon  them, 
a  certain  style  of  life,  a  peculiar  character.  Whatsoever 
may  have  been  his  original  race,  the  mountaineer  has  be- 
come such  as  he  is  beneath  the  influence  of  his  surround- 
ings ;  the  fatigue  of  the  ascents  and  toilsome  descents, 
the  simplicity  of  his  food,  the  rigor  of  the  winter's  cold, 
the  struggles  with  hardships,  have  made  an  exceptional 
man  of  him — have  imparted  to  him  carriage,  gait,  and 
movements  very  different  from  those  of  his  neighbors  in 
the  plains.  Besides  this,  they  have  endowed  him  with  a 
mode  of  thinking  and  feeling  which  distinguishes  him; 


138  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

they  have, reflected  in  his  mind,  as  in  that  of  the  sailor, 
something  of  the  serenity  of  great  horizons;  in  many 
places,  also,  they  have  guaranteed  him  the  inappreciable 
treasure  of  liberty. 

One  of  the  great  causes  contributing  to  maintain  the 
independence  of  certain  mountain  tribes  is  that,  for  them, 
mutual  assistance  in  work  and  combined  efforts  are  a  ne- 
cessity. All  are  useful  to  each,  and  each  is  useful  to  all ; 
the  shepherd,  who  goes  to  the  elevated  pastures  to  watch 
flocks  belonging  to  the  community,  is  not  least  neces- 
sary to  the  general  prosperity.  "When  any  disaster  takes 
place,  all  are  obliged  to  give  their  help  to  repair  the  evil : 
an  avalanche  has  buried  some  cabins,  all  work  at  remov- 
ing the  snow  ;  the  rain  has  made  ravines  in  the  fields  cul- 
tivated in  terraces  on  the  slopes,  all  busy  themselves  to 
restore  the  earth  that  has  slipped  down  into  the  bottoms, 
and  bring  it  back  in  basketfuls  to  the  declivities  whence 
it  fell  down ;  the  overflowing  torrent  has  covered  the 
meadows  with  pebbles,  all  are  employed  in  freeing  the 
grass  from  the  debris  which  smothers  it.  In  winter, 
when  it  is  dangerous  to  venture  into  the  snow,  they  count 
upon  each  other's  hospitality ;  they  are  all  brothers ; 
they  are  members  of  one  family.  Just  the  same  when 
they  are  attacked ;  they  resist  with  one  accord ;  are  stir- 
red, so  to  say,  by  one  single  idea.  Moreover,  the  life  of 
incessant  struggles,  of  unbroken  combats  with  dangers 
of  every  kind — perhaps,  too,  the  pure,  healthy  air  which 
they  "breathe  —  makes  hardy,  death  -  despising  men  of 
them.  Peaceable  toilers,  they  never  attack,  yet  they 
know  how  to  defend  themselves. 

The    protecting   mountain   provides   them   with   the 
means  to  shield  themselves  against  invasion.     It  defends 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER.  139 

the  valley  by  narrow  defiles,  where  a  few  men  would 
suffice  to  guard  the  entrance  against  whole  bands;  it 
conceals  its  fertile  vales  in  the  hollows  of  lofty  terraces, 
whose  escarpments  appear  to  be  insurmountable ;  in  cer- 
tain places  it  is  perforated  with  caverns  communicating 
with  each  other,  and  capable  of  serving  as  hiding-places. 

Upon  the  wall  of  a  defile  which  I  frequently  visited 
stood  one  of  these  hidden  fortresses.  It  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  I  could  reach  the  entrance,  by 
clinging  to  the  fissures  of  the  rock,  and  by  calling  to  my 
aid  several  stems  of  boxwood,  which  had  inserted  their 
roots  in  the  clefts.  How  much  more  difficult  would  the 
escalade  have  been  for  besiegers !  Blocks  of  rock  piled 
up  before  the  entrance  to  the  cave  were  ready  to  roll 
and  rebound  from  point  to  point  down  to  the  very  tor- 
rent. On  each  side  of  the  entrance  the  rock,  absolutely 
upright  and  polished,  did  not  leave  room  for  an  adder  to 
slip  through  ;  above,  the  cliff  overhung,  and  like  a  gigan- 
tic porch  protected  the  aperture.  In  addition  to  this,  a 
great  wall  half  shut  it  in.  Thus,  then,  unless  taken  by 
surprise,  the  grotto  was  unapproachable  for  all  assailants. 
The  enemy  would  be  obliged  to  limit  themselves  to  keep- 
ing watch  from  afar ;  but  when  at  last,  hearing  not  the 
slightest  sound  come  forth,  they  finally  ventured  in  to 
count  the  bodies,  they  would  find  the  subterranean  gal- 
leries perfectly  empty.  The  occupants  had  glided  from 
cavern  to  cavern,  until  they  reached  another  still  more 
secret  place  of  egress  amid  the  brushwood.  The  chase 
had  to  commence  afresh.  Sometimes,  alas !  it  terminated 
in  the  capture  of  the  game.  Man  is  the  prey  of  man. 

In  certain  localities,  where  the  mountain  does  not  offer 
propitious  cavities,  an  isolated  rock  in  the  valley,  one 


140  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN, 

with  upright  facets,  would  serve  as  a  fortress.  Cut  per- 
pendicularly on  the  three  sides  whose  base  is  surrounded 
by  the  torrent,  it  was  inaccessible  excepting  from  one 
quarter ;  arid  on  that  side  the  little  troop  of  mountaineers 
who  desired  to  make  it  both  their  watch-tower  and  their 
hiding-place,  in  case  of  retreat,  had  but  to  continue  the 
work  begun  by  nature.  They  cut  away  the  rock,  render- 
ed it  impassable  for  human  footsteps,  and  left  but  one  sin- 
gle subterranean  entrance  hewn  out  of  the  thickness  of 
the  rock  with  a  crow-bar.  Once  they  had  entered  their 
eyry,  the  inhabitants  of  the  fortress  blocked  up  the  en- 
trance by  means  of  huge  pieces  of  rock ;  a  bird  only  was 
thus  able  to  pay  them  a  visit.  Architecture  was  not  at 
all  needed  for  this  citadel.  Perhaps,  however,  from  a 
species  of  coquetry,  the  mountaineer  would  border  the 
edge  of  the  precipice  with  a  crenellated  wall,  which  per- 
mitted his  children  safely  to  play  upon  the  whole  extent 
of  the  plateau,  and  from  whose  top  he  could  more  easily 
spy  out  everything  showing  itself  on  any  portion  of  the 
mountain's  slopes.  In  many  mountainous  countries  of 
the  East,  where  the  valleys  are  peopled  with  races  hostile 
to  one  another,  and  where,  consequently,  the  murder  of 
a  man  is  esteemed  a  mere  peccadillo,  numbers  of  these 
rocky  fortresses  are  still  inhabited.  When  a  guest  ar- 
rives at  the  foot  of  the  escarpment,  he  announces  his 
presence  by  shouting.  Thereupon  a  basket  descends 
through  an  open  trap  in  the  rock,  the  traveller  gets  into 
it,  and  the  stalwart  arms  of  his  friends  above  slowly  hoist 
up  the  heavy  conveyance  as  it  gyrates  in  the  air. 

If  the  abrupt  rocks  of  the  high  valleys  served  to  de- 
fend peaceable  populations  against  all  incursions,  the 
little  protuberances  of  the  plain,  on  the  other  hand, 


TIJ1-:  1--REE   MUL'XTAL\EER.  141 

acted  as  watch  and  pillage  stations  for  some  predatory 
baron. 

How  many  villages,  even  in  our  country,  show  by  their 
architecture  that  until  quite  recently  war  was  permanent, 
and  that  at  every  moment  it  was  necessary  to  expect  an 
attack  from  lords  or  brigands !  There  are  no  isolated 
houses  on  the  hill-sides  void  of  means  of  defence ;  all  the 
hovels,  like  sheep  frightened  by  the  storm,  have  been 
huddled  together,  resembling  one  vast  heap  of  stones. 
From  below  it  looks  like  a  mere  continuation  of  the  rock, 
an  indentation  of  the  summit,  now  shining  in  the  light, 
now  black  in  the  shadow;  it  is  approached  by  dizzy 
steps,  which  each  morning  the  peasants  must  descend  to 
cultivate  their  fields,  which  they  must  wearily  ascend 
each  evening  after  the  day's  long  toil.  One  entrance 
alone  gives  access  to  the  hamlet,  and  upon  the  side  tow- 
ers can  still  be  seen  the  traces  of  portcullises  and  other 
means  of  defence ;  not  one  window  looks  out  over  the 
expanse  of  the  surrounding  valleys;  the  only  openings 
are  loop-holes,  through  which  formerly  passed  javelins 
and  the  muzzles  of  guns.  Even  nowadays  the  descend- 
ants of  these  unhappy  people,  besieged  generation  after 
generation,  are  afraid  to  build  their  dwellings  in  the  mid- 
dle of  their  fields.  They  could  have  done  so,  but  cus- 
tom, of  all  tyrants  that  which  receives  most  obedience, 
still  pens  them  up  in  the  ancient  prison. 

The  higher  valleys  of  the  mountain  were  free  to  the 
mountaineers ;  but  outside  the  narrow  passages,  wherein 
no  aggressor  had  ever  ventured  with  impunity,  an  almost 
isolated  cliff  bore  the  strong  castle  of  a  baron.  From  up 
yonder,  the  brigand,  ennobled  by  his  own  crimes  and  by 
those  of  his  ancestors,  could  command  the  surrounding 


142  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

plains  as  well  as  the  ravines  and  defiles  of  the  mountain. 
Like  a  serpent  coiled  up  on  a  rock,  and  raising  its  restless 
head  to  watch  a  nestful  of  tiny  birds,  the  bandit  watches 
from  the  height  of  his  keep ;  he  dare  not  attack  the 
mountaineers  in  their  valley,  but  at  least  he  promises 
himself  to  surprise  and  subdue  those  who  venture  into 
the  plain. 

The  castle  belonging  to  the  noble  destroyer  of  all  way- 
farers now  lies  in  ruins.  A  stony  footpath  obstructed 
by  briers  has  replaced  the  road  along  which  the  warriors 
made  their  glad  horses  caracole  when  setting  out  upon 
an  expedition,  up  which  toiled  the  captive  merchants  in 
chains,  and  their  mules  heavily  laden  with  booty.  At 
the  spot  where  the  drawbridge  stood,  the  moat  has  been 
filled  up  with  stones,  and  since  then  the  wind  and  the 
feet  of  the  passers-by  have  brought  to  it  a  little  vegetable 
soil  into  which  elder-trees  have  forced  their  roots.  The 
walls  have,  to  a  great  extent,  given  way ;  enormous  frag- 
ments as  big  as  rocks  lie  scattered  on  the  ground  ;  else- 
where stony  rubbish  fallen  into  the  moat  fill  it  half-way 
up ;  its  sides  are  thickly  covered  with  chickweed.  The 
great  court  wherein  formerly  armed  men  assembled  be- 
fore all  pillaging  expeditions  is  encumbered  with  rub- 
bish, intersected  with  quagmires.  We  hardly  dare  at- 
tempt to  make  our  way  through  the  thicket  of  shrubs 
and  tall  grass ;  we  are  afraid  of  stepping  upon  some  vi- 
per hidden  between  two  stones,  or  of  falling  into  the 
opening  of  some  still  yawning  oubliette  •  let  us,  how- 
ever, proceed,  carefully  picking  our  way.  We  arrive  at 
the  edge  of  a  well  which,  fortunately,  is  encircled  with 
the  remains  of  coping-stones.  Timidly  we  bend  over  the 
black  jaws  of  the  chasm,  and  strive  to  sound  the  depth 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER.  143 

through  the  hart's-tongue  and  bracken  grown  over  it. 
We  fancy  that  we  can  discern  at  the  bottom  the  feeble 
reflection  of  a  ray  of  light  which  has  strayed  into  the 
abyss ;  we  fancy  -that  we  hear  ascending  to  us  a  sound 
as  of  a  suppressed  murmur.  •  Is  it  a  wandering  current 
of  air  eddying  in  the  well  ?  Is  it  a  spring  whose  water 
oozes  through  the  stones  and  trickles  down  drop  by 
drop?  Is  it  a  salamander  crawling  about  in  the  water, 
causing  it  to  hiss — who  knows?  Formerly,  says  tradi- 
tion, the  confused  noises  issuing  from  these  depths  were 
the  despairing  cries  and  sobs  of  victims.  The  water  of 
the  well  rests  upon  a  bed  of  bones. 

With  an  effort  I  turn  my  eyes  from  the  chasm  which 
fascinates  me,  and  bring  them  back  to  the  square  mass 
of  the  keep,  shining  in  broad  daylight.  The  other  tow- 
ers have  fallen  in,  this  alone  remains  standing ;  it  has 
even  retained  some  of  the  battlements  of  its  coping. 
The  walls,  grown  yellow  beneath  the  sun,  are  still  pol- 
ished as  on  the  morrow  of  the  day  when  the  lord  held 
his  first  feast  in  the  great  hall;  hardly  a  crack  or  a 
scratch  is  to  be  seen ;  only  the  wood  and  iron  work  of 
the  narrow  windows  set  in  embrasures  have  disappeared. 
In  the  thick  walls,  five  yards  above  the  ground,  is  an  ap- 
erture which  was  the  en  trance -door;  a  large  stone  jut- 
ting out  forms  the  threshold,  and  the  top  of  the  pointed 
arch  is  ornamented  with  rude  carving  bearing  a  curious 
monogram  and  relics  of  the  ancient  baronial  device. 
The  movable  staircase  which  used  to  be  attached  to  the 
threshold  no  longer  exists,  and  the  zealous  archaeologist 
who  seeks  to  read,  or  rather  to  divine,  the  few  proud 
words  carved  in  the  stone  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
a  ladder.  In  order  to  obtain  access  to  the  interior  of  the 


144  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

tower,  the  peasants  have  made  use  of  more  violent  meas- 
ures— they  have  cut  a  hole  in  the  wall  on  a  level  with 
the  ground.  This,  no  doubt,  was  rough  treatment ;  but 
perhaps  they  were  animated  by  their  thirst  for  vengeance 
upon  this  keep,  wherein  numbers  of  their  people  had  died 
from  starvation  or  torture  ;  perhaps,  also,  they  imagined 
that  they  should  find  some  hidden  treasure  within  it. 

I  pass  through  this  breach  with  some  sense  of  appre- 
hension ;  the  air  inside,  to  mingle  with  which  no  ray  of 
sun  ever  comes,  freezes  me  before  I  have  fairly  entered. 
Yet  light  descends  to  the  bottom  of  the  tower ;  the  roof 
has  fallen  in,  the  floors  have  been  burned  in  some  bygone 
fire,  and  here  and  there  are  to  be  seen,  half  fastened  into 
the  walls,  the  remains  of  blackened  rafters.  All  this 
wreck  of  stones,  wood,  and  cinders  has  become  mixed  up 
together  by  degrees  into  a  sort  of  paste  which  the  waters 
from  the  sky,  descending  as  if  into  the  bottom  of  a  well, 
constantly  keep  damp.  Sticky  mud  covers  this  soft 
ground,  whereon  slips  my  foot  as  I  venture  to  put  it 
down  with  a  feeling  of  repugnance.  I  seem  to  be  im- 
prisoned in  this  horrible  dungeon  ;  my  only  feeling  is 
one  of  disgust  as  I  breathe  this  stale,  mephitic  air.  And 
}7et  it  is  pure  in  comparison  with  that  odor  of  decay  and 
bones  issuing  from  the  jagged  mouth  of  the  under- 
ground dungeons.  I  bend  over  the  black  hole  and  seek 
to  discern  something ;  but  I  can  see  nothing.  I  should, 
indeed,  have  to  possess  sight  sharpened  by  long  obscurity 
to  distinguish  the  reflections,  lost  in  this  obscurity.  Sin- 
ister hole !  I  am  ignorant  of  the  murders  in  which  it 
had  been  an  accomplice,  but  I  shudder  with  fear  when  I 
see  it ;  and,  as  if  to  seek  strength,  I  look  up  towards  the 
blue  sky  enframed  by  the  four  great  walls  of  the  tower. 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER.  145 

A  disturbed  screech-owl  whirls  about  up  above,  uttering 
its  shrill  cry. 

A  staircase  formed  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  enables 
yne  to  climb  up  to  the  battlements.  Several  steps  are 
worn  away,  and  the  staircase  is  thus  converted  into  an 
inclined  plane,  most  difficult  to  ascend ;  but  by  support- 
ing myself  by  the  walls,  clinging  to  the  projections,  slip- 
ping into  the  dust  only  to  raise  myself  up  again,  I  end 
in  reaching  the  coping  of  the  tower.  The  stone  is  broad 
and  I  run  no  risk,  yet  I  hardly  dare  move  a  couple  of 
steps  lest  I  should  be  overcome  by  dizziness,  I  am 
perched  up  so  high,  in  the  regions  of  birds  and  clouds, 
between  two  abysses. 

On  one  side  is  the  black  gulf  of  the  tower,  on  the  other 
the  luminous  depth  of  the  rocks  and  slopes  lighted  by 
the  sun.  The  crag  bearing  the  keep  looks  like  another 
tower,  several  hundred  yards  high,  and  the  river  winding 
at  its  feet  produces  the  effect  of  a  mere  moat  of  defence. 
Tradition  tells  how  one  of  the  ancient  lords  of  the  dis- 
trict sometimes  amused  himself  by  making  his  prisoners 
jump  down  from  the  terrace  of  the  keep.  He  reserved 
for  his  most  detested  enemies  a  lingering  death  in  the 
hole  of  the  oubliettes;  but  the  captives  against  whom  he 
had  no  cause  for  hatred  were  called  upon  to  show,  when 
casting  themselves  from  the  tower,  with  what  courage 
and  good  grace  they  could  die.  Of  an  evening  these 
deeds  would  be  talked  over  round  the  smoking-board ; 
the  contortions  of  those  who  recoiled  in  horror  from  the 
abyss  would  be  laughed  at,  those  applauded  who  with 
one  bound  had  flung  themselves  into  space.  The  noble 
lord  died  in  a  convent  in  the  neighborhood  in  the  "  odor 
of  sanctity." 


146  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

The  lowly  little  houses,  with  their  roofs  of  slate  or 
thatch  constituting  the  ancient  feudatory  village,  were 
irregularly  clustered  at  the  foot  of  the  crag.  What 
changes  have  been  accomplished,  not  only  in  the  institu- 
tions and  customs,  but  also  in  the  human  mind,  since  the 
Ion}  thus  kept  all  his  subjects  under  his  eyes  and  feet — 
since  the  heir  to  his  name  grew  up — saying  to  himself,  of 
those  badly  clothed  beings  whom  he  saw  moving  about 
below,  "  If  I  wish  it,  all  these  men  are  food  for  my 
sword !"  How,  then,  would  it  have  been  possible  for 
even  the  gentlest,  most  gifted  son  of  these  nobles  not  to 
feel  his  bosom  swell  with  fierce  pride  at  the  contempla- 
tion of  all  this  expanse  of  country  subject  to  him,  of  this 
grovelling  village,  these  abject  clods  herding  on  the 
dung-heap?  He  might  have  been  ready  in  his  infancy 
to  believe  that  all  men  have  an  equal  right  to  happiness; 
he  might  have  deemed  himself  to  be  born  of  the  same 
clay,  when  one  single  glance  over  the  country,  from  the 
top  of  the  lordly  terrace  of  his  keep,  would  have  sufficed 
to  undeceive  him.  To  believe  in  equality — not  in  joy, 
but  in  despair  or  remorse — it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
leave  his  castle,  to  fly  to  the  gloomy  convent  in  some 
narrow  valley,  and  to  beat  his  brow  upon  the  floor  of 
some  church.  I 

In  our  days  the  descendant  of  these  ancient  cavaliers 
no  longer  requires  to  act  as  the  jailer  of  a  village,  nor  to 
watch  the  inhabitants  with  a  jealous  eye,  unless,  at  least, 
he  has  become  the  proprietor  of  some  works,  while  the 
villagers  people  his  factory.  The  villa  which  he  has 
built  upon  the  slope  of  some  hill-side  is,  so  to  say,  kept 
out  of  sight.  The  nearest  group  of  houses  is  marked  by 
a  curtain  of  big  trees ;  and  if  the  remote  villages  do  peep 


"AT   THE   CONTEMPLATION   OF   ALL   THIS   EXPANSE 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER,  147 

out  here  and  there,  they  are  but  simple  motives  in  the 
landscape,  features  in  the  grand  picture.  The  lord  of 
the  castle  is  no  longer  the  master;  of  what  use,  then, 
would  it  be  for  him  to  give  to  his  house  a  commanding 
position? — solitude,  in  which  he  could  enjoy  nature  in 
peace,  were  "better  for  him. 

Thus,  since  the  Middle  Ages,  village  and  castle  have 
ceased  to  Constitute  a  world  of  their  own ;  voluntarily  or 
compulsorily,  they  have  entered  into  a  larger  one — into  a 
society  in  which  there  is  more  room  for  conflicts,  in 
which  progress  brings  about  a  result  grander  in  a  very 
different  way.  The  little  kingdom  of  which  the  lord 
was  absolute  master  is  in  these  days  but  a  simple  dis- 
trict, and  the  descendant  of  the  ancient  barons  has  now 
no  work  for  his  ancestor's  rusty  sword  to  do.  Perhaps 
he  may  still  try  to  retain  some  of  those  apparent  or  real 
privileges  of  his  father's  power  which  are  left  to  him ; 
perhaps,  while  resigning  himself  to  his  role  of  subject  or 
citizen,  he  simply  loses  himself  in  the  crowd.  In  all 
cases,  it  is  other  kings  and  nations  who  have  benefited 
by  his  ancestor's  fights  and  conquests.  While  they,  dur- 
ing long  years  of  warfare  against  the  mountaineers,  had 
succeeded  in  forcing  the  latter  into  their  retreats,  oblig- 
ing them  to  remove  the  frontier  of  their  domains  to  the 
snowy  crests,  in  their  turn  they  have  had  to  receive  the 
visit  of  some  invader,  and  the  limit  which  they  had  set 
to  their  possessions  became  lost  in  the  vast  circumfer- 
ence of  a  powerful  empire. 

A  curious  name  which  is  to  be  met  with  in  many  parts 
of  the  mountains  caused  me  to  dream  of  things  of  the 
past.  In  a  ravine,  merely  a  slight  dip  in  the  ground,  a 
spring,  which  would  hardly  be  visible  did  not  a  ray  of 


148  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

the  sun  reveal  its  existence,  gleams  from  afar  like  a  little 
sparkling  diamond.  I  draw  near,  the  leaves  of  the  water- 
cress alternately  bend  and  rise  np  again  beneath  the  sil- 
very drops  passing  over  them ;  birds  flutter  round  me, 
and  the  plant,  bathing  its  roots  in  the  hidden  water, 
darts  its  green  stems  and  flowers  out  far  above  the  with- 
ered turf  of  the  pastures.  This  little  patch  of  verdure, 
which  the  shepherds  see  from  afar  upon  the  gray  burnt- 
up-looking  face  of  the  mountain  slopes,  is  the  "  Fountain 
of  the  Three  Lords." 

Why  this  strange  title  ?  How  could  so  trivial  a  spring 
have  thus  assumed  the  name  of  three  potentates  ?  The 
legend  of  the  mountains  tells  us  that  at  a  very  ancient 
period,  in  the  times  when  strong  castles  surrounded  with 
moats  rose  up  on  all  the  crags  of  the  defiles,  three 
counts,  who  chanced  not  to  be  at  war,  went  out  hunting 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  little  fountain.  They  were  weary 
with  their  long  chase  in  pursuit  of  wild  boars  and  stags, 
and  the  sweat  ran  down  their  brows.  Their  crowd  of 
servitors  pressed  round  them,  vying  with  one  another  in 
offering  them  wine  and  metheglin  ;  but  the  tiny  thread 
of  water  trickling  through  the  fissure  of  the  rock  seemed 
a  more  agreeable  beverage  than  any  of  the  liquors  poured 
into  silver  goblets.  One  after  another  they  bent  over  the 
little  basin  of  the  spring,  pushed  aside  with  their  hands 
the  weeds  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  drank 
as  if  simple  shepherds  or  fawns  from  the  mountains. 
Then  they  looked  at  one  another,  held  out  the  hand  of 
friendship,  and,  lying  down  on  the  grass,  began  to  chat 
merrily.  The  weather  was  fine ;  the  sun  had  already  de- 
scended low  on  the  horizon  ;  some  scattered  clouds  cast 
long  shadows  upon  the  ripening  cornfields  in  the  plains ; 


THE  FREE  MOUNTAINEER.  149 

here  and  there  delicate  smoke  curled  up  from  the  vil- 
lages. The  three  companions  felt  in  a  good  humor.  Un- 
til then  their  vast  domains  in  the  mountain  had  had  no 
precise  limits;  they  decided  that  henceforth  the  spring 
whose  icy  thread  of  water  had  allayed  their  thirst  should 
be  the  point  of  separation  for  the  three  counties.  The 
one  was  to  follow  the  right,  the  other  the  left  bank  of 
the  streamlet ;  the  third  should  occupy  the  whole  of  the 
brow  of  the  hill  extending  from  the  source  to  the  neigh- 
boring summit,  and  from  there  to  the  opposite  side.  In 
testimony  of  the  treaty  just  concluded,  the  three  lords 
filled  their  hands  with  several  little  drops  from  the  foun- 
tain, and  each  sprinkled  them  over  the  turf  of  his  do- 
main. 

But,  alas  !  those  beautiful  days  are  not  to  last,  and  the 
noble  counts  are  not  always  smiling  or  good  friends. 
The  three  comrades  quarrelled  ;  war  broke  out.  Vassals, 
burghers,  and  peasants  cut  each  other's  throats  in  the  for- 
ests and  ravines,  with  a  view  to  removing  the  boundaries 
of  the  three  counties.  The  plain  was  devastated,  and 
for  several  generations  torrents  of  blood  flowed  for  the 
sake  of  the  possession  of  that  drop  of  water  trickling  up 
above  upon  the  peaceful  heights.  At  last  peace  is  made ; 
and  if  war  commence  again,  it  will  not  now  be  among 
the  three  barons,  nor  for  the  conquest  of  a  simple  foun- 
tain, but  between  puissant  sovereigns,  and  for  the  posses- 
sion of  immense  territories,  containing  mountains,  for- 
ests, rivers,  and  populous  towns.  They  are  no  longer 
badly  armed  bands  massacring  one  another;  they  are 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  provided  with  the  most 
scientific  means  of  destruction,  who  fling  themselves 
upon  and  kill  each  other.  There  is  no  doubt  that  hu- 


150  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

inanity  does  progress,  but  at  the  sight  of  these  terrible 
conflicts  one  is  sometimes  led  to  doubt  it. 

How  happy,  then,  it  would  appear,  must  be  those 
retired  populations  in  the  loftily  situated  valleys  who 
have  never  to  suffer  warfare,  or  who,  at  least,  in  spite  of 
the  flux  and  reflux  of  armies  on  the  march,  have  ended 
in  preserving  their  pristine  independence !  Many  races 
of  mountaineers,  protected  by  their  enormous  groups  of 
mountains  joined  together,  have  experienced  this  good- 
fortune  of  remaining  free.  They  know  that  it  is  not 
merely  to  the  heroism  of  their  hearts,  to  the  strength  of 
their  arms,  to  the  unity  of  their  purpose,  that  they  owe 
the  bliss  never  to  have  been  subdued  by  powerful  neigh- 
bors. It  is  also  to  their  great  Alps  that  they  must  re- 
turn thanks ;  these  are  the  steadfast  columns  which  have 
defended  the  entrance  to  their  temple. 


CRETINS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CKETINS. 

BY  the  side  of  these  strong,  valiant  men,  with  their 
stout  chests,  their  piercing  glance,  who  climb  the  rocks 
with  steady  steps,  hideous  masses  of  living  flesh  drag 
themselves  along;  they  are  cretins,  with  drooping  goitres. 
Yet  among  these  masses  are  many  who  cannot  even  do 
so  much;  there  they  sit  upon  filthy  chairs,  swinging 
their  bodies  and  heads  from  side  to  side,  allowing  the 
saliva  to  run  down  their  dirty  rags.  These  creatures 
cannot  walk ;  there  are  some  who  have  not  even  been 
able  to  acquire  the  art  of  carrying  their  food  to  their 
mouths :  they  are  fed  with  pap  until  they  are  surfeited, 
and  when  they  feel  the  soft  nourishment  slip  down  into 
their  stomachs  they  utter  a  little  grunt  of  satisfaction. 
Such  are  the  last  representatives  of  that  humankind 
"  whose  countenances  were  created  to  look  upon  the 
stars."  "What  a  wide  distance  lies  between  Apollo  of 
Pythion's  ideal  head  and  that  of  the  poor  cretin,  with 
his  sightless  eyes  and  his  distorted  grimaces !  Much 
more  beautiful  is  the  reptile's  head,  for  it  resembles  its 
own  type,  and  we  do  not  expect  to  see  it  different,  while 
the  face  of  the  idiot  is  a  hideously  degenerate  form ;  we 
see  from  afar  what  seems  to  us  to  be  a  man,  and  the  in- 
telligence of  the  beast  is  not  even  displayed  upon  those 
discordant  features ! 


152  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

As  a  climax  of  horror,  the  rudimentary  sentiments 
revealed  in  this  unhappy  creature  are  not  always  good. 
Some  cretins  are  malevolent.  These  grind  their  teeth, 
utter  fierce  roars,  make  angry  gesticulations  with  their 
clumsy  arms ;  they  stamp  upon  the  ground,  and,  if  they 
were  left  alone,  would  devour  the  flesh  and  drink  the 
blood  of  those  who  tend  them  so  devotedly.  What  mat- 
ters this  rage  to  the  simple  and  good  mountaineers  ?  In 
spite  of  it,  they  have  given  to  the  poor  idiots  the  names 
of  "cretins,"  "crestias,"  or  "innocents,"  in  the  belief 
that  these  creatures,  incapable  of  reasoning  about  their 
actions  and  of  arriving  at  the  comprehension  of  evil,  en- 
joy the  privilege  of  bearing  no  sin  upon  their  conscience. 
Christians  from  their  cradle,  they  could  not  fail  to  go 
straight  to  heaven.  It  is  thus  that  in  Mussulman  coun- 
tries the  crowd  prostrates  itself  before  madmen  and 
monomaniacs,  and  glories  in  being  touched  by  their 
spittle  or  excrements.  Since,  in  their  human  form,  they 
live  without  the  pale  of  humanity,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  they  constitute  a  divine  dream  ! 

Yet  among  these  unfortunates  there  are  some  who  are 
really  good,  who  love  to  do  their  best  in  their  narrow 
circle.  One  day  I  had  gone  down  into  the  valley  to  as- 
cend by  the  other  side  to  a  plateau  of  pastures,  in  the 
midst  of  which  I  had  seen  from  afar  the  waters  of  a 
small  lake.  Without  stopping,  I  had  passed  a  little  damp 
hut,  surrounded  by  some  alders,  and  leisurely  pursued  a 
path  faintly  marked  by  animals'  feet,  at  the  side  of  a 
rapid  stream.  I  had  already  gone  more  than  a  stone's- 
throw  beyond  the  hut  when  I  heard  behind  me  a  heavy, 
hurried  step;  at  the  same  time,  stertorous,  almost  rattling, 
breathing  proceeded  from  the  creature  pursuing  and 


CRETINS.  153 

gaining  upon  me.  I  turned  round  and  saw  a  poor  cretin, 
whose  goitre,  shaken  by  the  chase,  swayed  heavily  from 
shoulder  to  shoulder.  I  had  great  difficulty  in  restrain- 
ing an  ejaculation  of  horror,  on  seeing  this  human  mass 
advancing  towards  me,  throwing  herself  alternately  first 
on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other.  The  monster  made 
a  sign  to  me  to  wait,  then  stopped  before  me,  look- 
ing fixedly  at  me  with  vacant  eyes,  and  puffing  her  rat- 
tling breath  into  my  face.  With  a  warning  gesture,  she 
pointed  to  the  defile  into  which  I  was  about  to  enter, 
then  joined  her  hands  to  show  me  that  sharp  rocks  barred 
the  passage.  "  There,  there !"  she  uttered,  indicating  a 
more  distinctly  marked-out  footpath,  rising  as  it  winds 
up  the  incline  and  reaches  a  plateau  by  which  it  goes 
round  the  impassable  defile  in  the  bottom.  When  she 
saw  me  follow  her  good  advice  and  begin  to  climb  the 
slope,  she  uttered  two  or  three  grunts  of  satisfaction,  fol- 
lowed me  with  her  eyes  for  some  time,  then  retired  quiet- 
ly, happy  to  have  performed  a  good  action.  I  confess  I 
felt  that  I  was  humiliated  rather  than  she.  A  creature 
afflicted  by  nature,  horrible,  a  kind  of  thing  without  form 
and  without  name,  had  not  rested  until  she  had  saved  me 
from  a  wrong  step ;  and  I,  a  proud  man — I,  who  knew 
myself  to  be  endowed  by  nature  with  a  certain  amount 
of  reason,  and  who  had  reached  the  sense  of  moral  re- 
sponsibility— how  many  times  had  I  not,  without  saying 
a  word,  allowed  other  men,  and  even  those  whom  I  called 
my  friends,  to  enter  upon  much  more  formidable  paths 
than  a  defile  in  the  mountains !  The  idiot,  the  goitrous 
woman,  had -taught  me  my  duty.  Thus,  even  in  what 
appeared  to  me  to  be  lower  than  humanity,  I  found  that 
benevolence  so  often  lacking  in  those  who  think  them- 

8* 


154  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN, 

selves  great  and  strong.  No  creature  is  too  low  to  fall 
beneath  love,  and  even  respect.  Who,  then,  is  right — 
the  ancient  Spartan,  who  threw  all  malformed  children 
into  a  chasm,  or  the  mother  who,  while  weeping,  suckles 
and  caresses  her  idiot,  deformed  son  ?  Certainly  we  can- 
not say  that  the  mothers  are  wrong  who  struggle  against 
all  hope  to  rescue  their  children  from  death ;  but  society 
must  come  to  the  assistance  of  these  unfortunates,  with 
science  and  affection  to  cure  those  who  are  curable,  to 
gi\%  all  happiness  possible  to  those  whose  condition  is 
hopeless,  and  to  do  its  utmost,  that  hygienic  practice  and 
the  comprehension  of  physiological  laws  may  more  and 
more  reduce  the  number  of  similar  births. 

A  regular  course  of  education  can  refine  these  dull 
natures ;  and  when  a  mother's  affection  is  followed  up  by 
the  solicitude  of  a  companion  who  succeeds  in  teaching 
the  poor  innocent  to  accomplish  some  rude  task,  he  by 
degrees  becomes  developed,  and  ends  by  showing  some- 
thing like  a  gleam  of  intelligence  upon  his  face.  Among 
the  innumerable  pictures  graven  in  my  memory  while 
crossing  the  mountain,  I  discover  one  which  still,  after 
long  years,  touches  and  moves  me.  It  was  evening,  tow- 
ards one  of  the  latter  days  in  summer.  The  meadows  in 
the  valley  were  mown  a  second  time,  and  here  and  there 
I  perceived  little  haycocks  whose  sweet  scent  was  wafted 
to  me  by  the  breeze.  I  was  walking  along  a  winding 
path,  enjoying  the  freshness  of  the  evening,  the  perfume 
of  the  plants,  the  beauty  of  the  peaks  lighted  up  by  the 
declining  sun.  Suddenly,  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  I  found 
myself  in  the  presence  of  a  singular  group.  A  goitred 
cretin  was  harnessed  by  cords  to  a  species  of  cart  filled 
with  hay.  Without  any  difficulty  he  drew  the  heavy  ve- 


"  WITH    HIM   THE    LAD    FORMED    A    YOKK. 


CRETIXS.  155 

hicle,  seeing  neither  bogs  nor  the  great  scattered  blocks, 
and  pulling  as  if  with  blind  force.  But  by  his  side  was 
his  little  brother,  a  pretty,  active  child  with  an  intelligent 
smiling  face;  it  was  he  who  saw  and  thought  for  the 
monster.  By  a  sign,  a  touch,  he  made  his  brother  incline 
to  the  right  or  the  left  to  avoid  obstacles,  hastening  or 
slackening  his  speed ;  with  him  the  lad  formed  a  yoke, 
of  which  he  was  the  mind  and  the  other  the  body.  As 
they  passed,  the  boy  greeted  me  with  a  pleasant  gesture, 
and  pushing  Caliban  with  his  elbow,  made  him  remove 
his  cap  and  turn  his  soulless  eyes  towards  me.  Yet  I 
seemed  to  see  something  in  them  like  a  gleam  of  a  human 
sentiment  of  respect  and  friendship ;  and  I,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  reverence,  greeted  this  touching  group,  this  sym- 
bol of  humankind. 

Left  to  himself,  and  rejoicing  merely  in  the  instinctive 
lights  of  an  animal,  the  cretin  can  sometimes  accomplish 
things  which  would  be  above  the  power  of  an  intelligent 
man  filled  with  the  consciousness  of  his  own  importance. 
Frequently  my  companion  the  shepherd  had  related  to 
me  the  story  of  a  fall  he  had  met  with  down  a  crevasse  in 
the  glacier ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  it,  horror  would  still 
be  depicted  upon  his  face.  He  was  sitting  upon  the  talus, 
close  to  the  edge  of  a  glacier,  when  a  stone,  in  falling, 
caused  him  to  lose  his  balance,  and,  without  being  able 
to  stop  himself,  he  slipped  into  a  yawning  chasm  open- 
ing out  between  the  rock  and  the  compact  mass  of  the 
ice ;  suddenly  he  found  himself  as  if  at  the  bottom  of  a 
well,  hardly  able  to  perceive  one  ray  of  light  from  the 
skies.  He  was  stunned,  contused,  but  none  of  his  limbs 
were  broken.  Impelled  by  the  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion, he  managed  to  cling  to  the  walls  of  the  rock  and  to 


156  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

climb  up  from  projection  to  projection,  until  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  aperture ;  there  he  beheld  the  sun  once 
more,  the  pastures,  the  sheep,  and  his  dog,  who  was  watch- 
ing him  with  fervent  eyes.  But,  having  reached  this 
ledge,  the  shepherd  could  climb  no  farther ;  above,  the 
rock  was  smooth  on  every  side,  leaving  nothing  for  his 
hand  to  grip.  The  animal  was  as  desperate  as  his  mas- 
ter ;  he  flung  himself  from  side  to  side,  upon  the  edge  of 
the  precipice ;  he  gave  vent  to  several  short  barks,  then 
suddenly  sped  off  like  a  dart  in  the  direction  of  the  val- 
ley. The  shepherd  had  nothing  more  to  fear.  He  knew 
that  the  good  dog  was  gone  in  search  of  help,  and  that 
he  would  soon  return  accompanied  by  shepherds  with 
ropes.  Nevertheless,  during  the  period  of  suspense  he 
passed  through  horrible  agonies  of  despair ;  he  felt  as  if 
the  faithful  brute  would  never  return ;  he  saw  himself 
dying  of  hunger  upon  his  rock,  and  asked  himself  with 
horror  if  the  eagles  would  not  come  to  tear  morsels  of 
flesh  from  his  limbs  before  he  was  quite  dead.  And  yet 
he  recollected  perfectly  how,  in  a  similar  case,  an  "  inno- 
cent "  had  behaved.  Having  fallen  to  the  bottom  of  a 
crevasse,  whence  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  ascend,  the 
cretin  had  not  exhausted  himself  with  useless  efforts; 
he  waited  patiently,  beating  his  feet  upon  the  ground  so 
as  to  keep  up  animal  warmth,  and  thus  waited  patiently 
through  a  whole  evening,  a  whole  night,  then  through 
half  of  the  following  day.  At  last  having  heard  his 
name  shouted  by  those  in  search  of  him,  he  responded, 
and  soon  after  was  drawn  up  out  of  the  gulf.  His  only 
complaint  was  that  he  had  been  very  cold. 

But  whatever,  alas !  may  be  the  privileges  and  immu- 
nities of  the  cretin,  even  although  the  unfortunate  creat- 


CRETINS.  157 

ure  has  no  need  to  fear  the  cares  and  deceptions  of  the 
man  who  carves  out  his  own  path  in  life,  it  is  not  the  less 
necessary  to  strive  to  wrest  the  cretin  out  of  his  "  inno- 
cence "  and  his  disgusting  maladies,  in  order  to  give  him, 
at  the  same  time  as  physical  strength,  a  sense  of  his  own 
moral  responsibility.  He  must  be  made  to  enter  into  the 
companionship  of  free  men ;  and  to  cure  and  elevate  him 
it  is  necessary  first  to  know  what  have  been  the  causes 
of  his  degeneracy.  Learned  men,  bending  over  their  re- 
torts and  books,  offer  opposite  opinions ;  some  say  that 
the  deformity  of  the  goitre  proceeds  principally  from  the 
want  of  iodine  in  the  drinking-water,  and  that  by  inter- 
breeding moral  deformity  ends  in  being  added  to  that  of 
the  body;  the  others  rather  believe  that  goitre  and  cre- 
tinism are  produced  by  the  water,  which,  descended  from 
the  snow,  has  not  had  time  to  be  sufficiently  stirred  and 
aerated  before  it  reaches  the  village,  or  else  by*  having 
passed  over  rocks  containing  magnesia.  It  is  certain  that 
bad  water  can  frequently  contribute  to  germinating  and 
developing  disease;  but  is  that  all? 

It  is  enough  to  enter  one  of  those  cabins  in  which  the 
idiots  are  born  and  vegetate  to  see  that  there  exist  other 
causes  for  their  lamentable  position.  The  habitation  is 
gloomy  and  smoky ;  the  chests,  the  table,  the  rafters,  are 
worm-eaten ;  in  corners  into  which  our  eyes  cannot  thor- 
oughly penetrate  we  perceive  indistinct  forms  covered 
with  filth  and  spiders'  webs.  The  earth  which  does  duty 
for  a  floor  is  left  constantly  damp,  and  as  if  viscous  from 
all  the  rubbish  and  impure  water  covering  it.  The  air 
breathed  in  that  confined  space  is  foul  and  fetid.  Some- 
times the  odors  of  smoke,  rancid  lard,  mouldy  bread, 
worm-eaten  wood,  dirty  linen,  human  emanations,  can  all 


158  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOU.VTALV. 

be  simultaneously  perceived.  At  night  every  aperture 
is  closed  to  prevent  the  cold  from  without  penetrating 
into  the  chamber ;  grandparents,  father,  mother,  children, 
all  sleep  in  a  sort  of  shelved  cupboard,  whose  curtains  are 
closed  by  day,  where  during  the  night's  slumber  a  dense 
air  accumulates,  far  more  impure  even  than  that  in  the 
rest  of  the  cabin.  Nor  is  this  all ;  during  the  cold  of  the 
winter,  the  family,  in  order  to  keep  themselves  warmer, 
migrate  from  the  ground-floor  and  descend  into  the  cellar, 
which  at  the  same  time  serves  for  a  stable.  On  one  side 
are  the  animals,  lying  on  dirty  straw ;  on  the  other  the 
men  and  women,  sleeping  beneath  their  grimy  sheets.  A 
gutter  separates  the  two  groups  of  vertebrate  mammals, 
but  the  air  breathed  is  common  to  all.  Nor,  again,  can 
this  air,  penetrating  through  narrow  chinks,  be  renewed 
for  many  weeks,  on  account  of  the  snow  covering  the 
ground*  it  is  necessary  to  dig  out  a  sort  of  chimney 
through  which  nothing  but  a  wan  ray  of  light  descends. 
In  these  cellars  day  itself  resembles  a  polar  night. 

Is  it  astonishing  that  in  such  dwellings,  scrofulous, 
rickety,  deformed  children  ^should  be  born?  From  the 
first  week  numberless  newly  born  babes  are  shaken  by 
terrible  convulsions,  to  which  the  greatest  portion  suc- 
cumb ;  in  certain  countries  mothers  are  so  used  to  the 
death  of  their  children  that  they  hardly  consider  them  to 
be  alive  until  the  formidable  passage  of  the  "  five  days' 
malady  "  has  been  gone  through.  And  how  many  of 
those  who  do  escape  live  anything  but  a  life  of  sickness 
and  insanity  ?  Excellent  as  the  surrounding  air  of  the 
free  mountain  and  the  outdoor  work  are  for  developing 
a  sound  man's  strength  and  agility,  so,  in  proportion,  do 
the  confined  space  and  humid  gloom  of  the  cabin  con- 


CRETINS.  159 

tribute  to  render  worse  the  condition  of  the  cretin  and 
the  goitrous  victim.  By  the  side  of  the  one  brother  who 
becomes  the  handsomest  and  strongest  among  the  young 
people,  another  brother  drags  himself  along,  a  sort  of 
fearful,  living,  fleshy  excrescence ! 

In  many  localities,  people  have  already  begun  to  build 
asylums  for  these  unfortunates.  Nothing  is  wanting  in 
those  modern  abodes.  Pure  air  circulates  freely  through 
them,  the  sun  lights  up  every  room,  the  water  is  pure 
and  wholesome,  all  the  furniture,  and  especially  the  beds, 
are  exquisitely  clean,  the  "innocents"  have  attendants 
who  look  after  them  as  would  nurses,  and  professors  who 
strive  to  cause  a  ray  of  intellectual  light  to  enter  into 
their  impenetrable  brains.  Frequently  they  succeed,  and 
the  cretin  may  gradually  awaken  to  a  superior  life.  But 
it  is  not  of  so  much  importance  to  labor  at  repairing  an 
evil  which  has  already  occurred  as  it  is  to  guard  against 
it.  These  infected  hovels,  so  picturesque  sometimes  in 
the  landscape,  must  disappear  to  make  room  for  commo- 
dious, healthy  houses ;  air  and  light  must  enter  freely 
into  every  habitation  of  man ;  sound  bodily  health  as 
well  as  perfect  moral  dignity  must  be  observed  every- 
where. At  this  price  the  mountaineers  will  in  a  few 
generations  purchase  complete  immunity  from  all  those 
maladies  which  now  degrade  so  great  a  number  among 
them.  Then  the  inhabitants  will  be  worthy  of  the  coun- 
try surrounding  them;  they  will  be  able  with  satisfac- 
tion to  contemplate  the  lofty  snow-clad  summits,  and  to 
say,  with  the  ancient  Greeks,  "  These  are  our  ancestors, 
and  we  resemble  them." 


160  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MOUNT  A  IN -WORSHIP. 

THE  worship'  of  nature  still  exists  in  the  world  to  an 
almost  incredible  extent.  How  often  has  a  peasant,  un- 
covering his  head,  pointed  to  the  sun,  and  solemnly  said 
to  me,  "  There  is  our  god !"  And  even  I — shall  I  confess 
it? — have  many  a  time  been  impelled  by  real  feeling,  at 
sight  of  lofty  eminences,  enthroned  above  valleys  and 
plains,  to  call  them  divine. 

One  day  I  was  laboriously  making  my  way  up  a  nar- 
row pass,  very  steep,  and  obstructed  by  rolling  stones. 
The  wind  poured  down  the  pass,  and  beat  upon  me,  with 
blinding  dashes  of  rain  and  sleet ;  a  gray  veil  of  mist  hid 
the  rocks  from  my  sight,  but  here  and  there,  in  the  ob- 
scurity, I  caught  glimpses  of  black  and  threatening  mass- 
es, which  seemed  by  turn  to  retire  and  to  approach  me, 
according  as  the  fog  was  more  or  less  dense.  I  was  be- 
numbed, depressed,  miserable.  All  at  once  a  gleam  of 
light,  reflected  by  the  countless  particles  of  water  in  the 
air,  caused  me  to  look  upwards.  Above  my  head  the 
cloud  of  water  and  snow  had  parted ;  the  blue  sky  was 
beaming  upon  me,  and  high  up  in  this  clear  azure  ap- 
peared the  serene  brow  of  a  mountain  :  its  snowy  cover- 
ing, embroidered  by  sharp  points  of  rock,  as  if  with  fine 
arabesques,  shone  with  the  brilliancy  of  silver,  and  the 


MO  UN  TA  IN-  WORSHIP.  161 

sun  edged  it  with  a  line  of  gold.  The  outlines  of  the 
mountain  were  true  and  precise,  like  those  of  a  statue 
standing  resplendent  in  a  background  of  darkness ;  but 
the  superb  pyramid  seemed  to  be  absolutely  detached 
from  earth  :  tranquil,  strong,  unchangeable  in  its  repose, 
it  appeared  to  hang  suspended  in  the  sky,  and  to  belong 
to  another  world  than  this  heavy  planet,  all  wrapped  in 
clouds  and  fogs.  In  this  apparition  I  thought  I  saw 
something  more  than  the  valley  of  happiness  —  more, 
even,  than  Olympus,  the  abode  of  the  gods.  But  a 
vicious  cloud  came  suddenly,  and  closed  the  opening 
through  which  I  had  beheld  the  mountain  :  I  found  my- 
self once  more  in  the  wind,  the  mist  and  rain,  but  I  con- 
soled myself  with  the  thought, "  a  divine  revelation  has 
appeared  to  me." 

In  the  earliest  historic  times,  all  people  had  this  feel- 
ing in  regard  to  mountains :  they  saw  in  them  divinities, 
or,  at  least,  the  throne  of  superior  beings,  alternately  visi- 
ble and  hidden  under  a  passing  veil  of  clouds.  It  was 
to  these  mountains  they  ascribed,  generally,  the  origin  of 
their  race ;  in  them  they  fixed  the  seat  of  their  tradi- 
tions or  legends ;  to  them  they  looked  as  the  scene  where 
their  ambitions  and  their  dreams  would  be  realized  in 
the  future ;  and  it  was  always  from  them  their  saviour, 
the  angel  of  glory  or  liberty,  was  expected  to  come  down. 
So  important  a  part  have  lofty  mountain-peaks  always 
borne  in  the  life  of  nations  that  one  might  almost  tell 
the  history  of  humanity  by  that  of  mountain-worship ; 
they  are  like  great  milestones  set  here  and  there  on  the 
march  of  advancing  races. 

It  was  in  the  valleys  between  the  great  mountains  of' 
Central  Asia,  accordihg  to  learned  scholars,  that  those  of 


162  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

our  ancestors  to  whom  we  owe  our  European  languages 
established  themselves  in  civilized  tribes,  the  first  that 
were  ever  known  ;  and  at  the  southern  base  of  the  high- 
est mountain  range  in  the  world  live  the  Hindoos,  that 
Aryan  race  whose  ancient  civilization  comes  down  to 
them  as  a  sort  of  ennobling  birthright.  Their  ancient 
songs  tell  us  with  what  pious  fervor  they  celebrated 
their  "  eighty-four  thousand  mountains  of  gold,"  which 
rear  themselves  heavenward  in  the  light  beyond  the 
plains  and  forests.  To  the  inhabitants  of  that  region 
the  grand  mountains  of  Himalaya — with  their  snow-clad 
summits,  their  great  glaciers — are  gods  themselves,  glo- 
rying in  their  power  and  majesty.  The  Gaurisankar, 
whose  peak  pierces  the  sky,  and  the  Chamalari,  not  so 
high,  but  more  colossal  in  appearance,  by  reason  of  its 
isolation,  are  doubly  worshipped  as  the  great  goddess 
united  to  the  great  god;  their  ice-fields  are  a  bed  of 
crystals  and  diamonds ;  the  purple  and  gold  clouds  are 
the  sacred  veil  which  enwraps  them.  There,  above,  is 
the  god  Siva,  who  destroys  and  creates ;  there,  also,  is 
the  goddess  Chama,  the  Gauri,  who  conceives  and  pro- 
duces; from  her  are  descended  plants,  rivers,  animals, 
and  mankind. 

In  this  wonderful  growth  of  epic  poetry  and  tradition 
have  taken  root  many  other  legends  relating  to  the  moun- 
tains of  Himalaya,  all  of  which  represent  them  as  living 
a  sublime  life,  either  as  goddesses  or  as  the  mothers  of 
continents  and  nations.  Such  is  the  poetic  legend  which 
pictures  the  habitable  earth  as  a  great  lotus-flower,  whose 
leaves  are  the  peninsulas  spread  out  upon  the  ocean,  and 
whose  stamens  and  pistils  are  the  mountains  of  Merou, 
the  springs  of  all  life.  The  glaciers,  the  torrents  and 


MO  UNTA  IN-  WORSHIP.  163 

rivers  which  bring  down  enriching  soil  from  above,  are 
also  living  beings,  gods  and  goddesses  of  a  lower  rank, 
who  place  the  humble  mortals  of  the  plains  in  indirect 
communication  with  the  superior  divinities  sitting  above 
in  luminous  space. 

Not  only  Mount  Merou,  the  culminating  point  of  the 
planet,  but  all  the  other  ranges,  all  the  mountain  heights 
of  India,  were  worshipped  by  the  peoples  who  dwelt  on 
their  sides  and  at  their  base.  Mounts  Yindhya,  Satpu- 
rah,  Aravulli,  Neilgherry,  had  all  their  worshippers.  In 
the  flat  countries,  where  the  faithful  had  no  mountains 
to  look  at,  they  built  themselves  temples,  which,  with 
their  rows  of  unshapely  pyramids  of  huge  blocks  of 
granite,  represented  the  venerated  heights  of  Mount 
Merou.  Perhaps  it  was  a  similar  sentiment  of  awe  for 
great  elevations  which  led  the  ancient  Egyptians  to  con- 
struct the  pyramids,  those  artificial  mountains  reared 
upon  a  foundation  of  sand  and  clay. 

The  Island  of  Ceylon,  Lanka,  "  the  resplendent,"  that 
happy  spot  where,  according  to  an  Eastern  legend,  the 
first  of  our  race  were  sent,  by  divine  mercy,  after  their 
expulsion  from  Paradise,  also  has  its  sacred  mountains. 
Such,  among  others,  is  Mihintala,  an  isolated  peak  in  the 
middle  of  a  plain,  with  its  sacred  city  of  Anarajapura. 
It  was  on  the  rocky  summit  of  Mihintala  that  the  Hin- 
doo missionary  Mahindo  alighted,  twenty -two  centuries 
ago,  after  his  flight  from  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  to 
convert  the  Cingalese  to  the  religion  of  Buddha.  A 
temple  now  marks  the  spot  where  the  saint  descended; 
and  though  it  is  an  immense  edifice,  the  pious  zeal  of 
the  pilgrims  is  so  great  that  they  have  often  covered  it 
entirely,  from  base  to  dome,  with  a  mantle  of  flowers. 


164  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

A  blazing  carbuncle  glitters  at  the  pinnacle  of  the  tem- 
ple, flashing  back  from  afar  the  rays  of  the  sun.  For- 
merly a  rajah  caused  a  great  carpet,  six  miles  in  length, 
to  be  spread  from  the  top  of  the  mountain  to  the  plain 
below,  so  that  the  feet  of  the  faithful  might  not  touch 
the  impure  dust  from  unconsecrated  earth. 

And  yet  the  fame  of  this  sacred  mountain  Mihintala 
pales  in  comparison  with  the  celebrated  Adam's  Peak, 
which  is  visible  far  out  at  sea  to  sailors  approaching  the 
Island  of  Ceylon.  The  impress  of  a  gigantic  foot,  be- 
longing, apparently,  to  a  man  ten  yards  high,  is  hollowed 
into  the  rock  at  the  extremity  of  the  peak.  This  foot- 
print, say  the  Mohammedans  and  Jews,  is  that  of  the 
first  man,  Adam,  who  ascended  the  mountain  to  get  a 
view  of  the  earth,  the  vast  forests,  the  mountains  and 
plains,  the  shores  and  great  ocean,  with  its  islands  and 
its  dangers.  According  to  the  Cingalese  and  Indians, 
this  is  not  the  footprint  of  a  man  at  all,  but  of  a  god, 
who  has  left  this  trace  of  his  presence.  This  reigning 
deity,  the  Brahmins  tell  us,  was  Siva;  the  Buddhists  say 
he  was  Buddha;  while  the  Gnostics  of  the  early  Chris- 
tian period  call  him  Jehovah.  When  the  conquering 
Portuguese  landed  on  the  Island  of  Ceylon,  they,  so  to 
speak,  degraded  the  mountain,  which,  in  their  opinion, 
did  not  at  all  compare  with  the  Holy  Land ;  in  the  mys- 
terious footprint  they  saw  nothing  more  remarkable 
than  a  trace  of  St.  Thomas,  or,  perhaps,  of  the  Eunuch 
of  Candace,  an  ancient  missionary  and  second-rate  apos- 
tle. Moses  Choreuensis,  an  Armenian,  jealous  of  the 
claim  of  his  own  noble  Mount  Ararat,  was  still  less  re- 
spectful, and  saw  on  the  top  of  Adam's  Peak  only  the 
footprints  of  Satan,  the  eternal  enemy.  Finally,  the 


M  0  UNTA  IN-  WORSHIP.  \  o  5 

English  travellers  who,  more  and  more  each  year,  made 
the  ascent  of  the  holy  mountain,  saw  in  the  "  divine  im- 
print" only  an  ordinary  cavity  in  the  rock,  enlarged  and 
rudely  carved  into  shape.  You  can  imagine  with  what 
contempt  these  strangers  are  regarded  by  the  faithful 
who  come  to  prostrate  themselves  on  the  rock,  devoutly 
kiss  the  footprint,  and  place  their  offerings  in  the  house 
of  the  priest.  To  them  everything  bears  testimony  to 
the  authenticity  of  the  miracle.  At  a  point  some  yards 
below  the  summit  a  small  spring  flows  from  the  rock :  it 
was  the  staff  of  the  deity  that  caused  it  to  issue  forth ; 
numbers  of  trees  grow  upon  the  mountain-side,  and  these 
trees,  they  say,  incline  all  their  branches  towards  the 
summit,  to  blossom  and  grow  in  the  act  of  worship. 

The  rocks  on  the  mountain  are  strewn  with  precious 
stones:  these  are  the  tears  which  have  fallen  from  the 
eyes  of  the  deity  at  sight  of  the  crimes  and  sufferings  of 
mankind.  How  could  they  fail  to  believe  in  the  miracle, 
in  view  of  all  these  riches,  which  suggested  the  tales  of  the 
"  Thousand  and  One  Nights  ?"  The  streamlets  which 
flow  from  the  mountain  do  not  wash  down  common  peb- 
bles and  sand,  like  our  streams ;  they  bring  with  them  a 
deposit  of  rubies  and  sapphires  and  garnets,  and  the 
bather  who  disports  himself  in  their  waters  wallows,  like 
the  sirens,  in  a  bed  of  precious  stones. 

Those  races  of  the  extreme  East,  whose  civilization 
has  followed  a  different  course  from  that  of  the  Aryan 
race,  have  worshipped  their  mountains  with  the  same 
fervor.  In  China  and  Japan,  as  well  as  in  India,  the 
mountain-tops  are  crowned  with  temples  consecrated  to 
the  gods,  when  they  are  not  themselves  regarded  as  tu- 
telary or  avenging  deities;  and  to  these  divine  moun- 


166  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

tains  the  people  try  to  connect  their  history  by  legends 
and  traditions. 

The  most  ancient  historic  mountains  are  those  of  Chi- 
na, for  the  people  of  the  "middle  race"  were  among  the 
first  to  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  themselves,  and  the  first 
to  write  down  their  connected  history.  Their  sacred 
mountains,  five  in  number,  are  all  in  districts  famous 
for  their  agriculture,  their  industries,  their  dense  popu- 
lation, and  the  remarkable  events  which  have  occurred 
near  by.  The  most  sacred  of  these  mountains,  the  Tai- 
Chan,  overtops  all  the  other  heights  in  the  rich  penin- 
sula of  Chan-Toung,  between  the  two  gulfs  of  the  Yel- 
low Sea.  From  the  top,  which  one  reaches  by  a  paved 
road  and  steps  hewn  in  the  solid  rock,  one  sees  stretched 
at  its  feet  the  rich  plains  which  the  Hoang-Ho  crosses 
as  it  goes  winding  about  between  the  two  gulfs,  supply- 
ing water  to  multitudes  of  people  more  numerous  than 
the  leaves  of  the  forest.  The  Emperor  Choung  made 
the  ascent  four  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago,  so  the  his- 
tory of  the  country  records.  Confucius,  also,  tried  to 
climb  to  the  top,  but  the  ascent  is  difficult ;  the  philoso- 
pher stopped  short,  and  the  spot  is  still  pointed  out  where 
he  turned  back.  All  the  superior  gods  and  the  principal 
genii  have  their  temples  and  altars  on  this  sacred  moun- 
tain, and  so,  likewise,  have  the  clouds,  the  sky,  the  Great 
Bear,  and  the  Polar  Star. 

Here  the  ten  thousand  genii  pause  in  their  flight  to 
contemplate  the  earth  and  the  cities  of  mankind.  "  The 
honor  of  Tai-Chan  equals  that  of  heaven  :  it  controls  the 
world ;  it  collects  the  clouds  and  sends  us  rain  ;  it  decides 
upon  births  and  deaths,  upon  good  and  bad  fortune, 
honor  and  disgrace.  Of  all  the  peaks  which  touch  the 


MO UNTA IN-  WORSHIP.  167 

sky,  none  is  worthier  of  a  visit."  And  so  pilgrims  flock 
there  in  crowds  to  pray  for  all  mercies ;  and  the  way  is 
lined  with  caves  where  beggars  with  hideous  sores  lie 
in  wait,  a  horror  to  passers-by. 

The  Japanese,  with  more  reason  "than  the  Chinese — 
for  their  volcanic  mountains  are  wonderfully  beautiful — 
look  upon  their  snow-clad  summits  with  adoration.  Is 
there  any  idol  in  the  world  could  rival  their  magnificent 
Fusi-Yama,  the  "mountain  beyond  compare,"  which 
rises  almost  isolated  in  the  middle  of  a  plain,  its  base 
covered  with  forests,  its  sides  with  snow  ?  Formerly  the 
volcano  poured  forth  smoke,  and  seethed  with  flame  and 
lava ;  now  it  is  silent,  but  in  the  Archipelago  there  are 
several  volcanic  mountains  which  still  emit  rivers  of  fire 
upon  the  trembling  earth. 

Among  these  mountains  there  is  one,  the  most  terrible 
of  all,  which  people  thought  to  appease  by  throwing 
into  the  crater  thousands  of  Christians  as  an  offering. 
In  the  same  way,  in  the  New  World,  they  tried  to  calm 
Mount  Monotombo  by  casting  into  it  the  priests  who 
had  dared  to  preach  against  it,  declaring  it  was  not  a  god, 
but  the  mouth  of  hell.  On  the  other  hand,  volcanoes 
do  not  generally  wait  for  victims  to  be  thrown  into  their 
craters;  they  know  only  too  well  how  to  lay  hold  of 
them  when  they  rend  the  earth,  pour  down  lakes  of  mud, 
and  cover  whole  provinces  with  ashes :  at  one  stroke 
they  destroy  the  inhabitants  of  an  entire  country.  Is 
not  this  enough  to  inspire  worship  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  bow  their  heads  before  power?  The  volcano  de- 
stroys ;  therefore  it  is  a  god. 

So  mountain- worship,  like  all  other  religions,  takes 
possession  of  man  through  various  instincts  in  his  nature. 

9 


168  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

At  the  foot  of  a  volcano  ejecting  lava,  it  is  terror  which 
makes  him  bow  his  face  to  the  ground ;  in  the  parched 
fields,  it  is  need  of  help  that  makes  him  look  appealing- 
]y  to  the  snowy  mountains,  the  source  of  streams ;  grat- 
itude, also,  has  made  worshippers  of  many  who  have 
found  a  safe  refuge  in  the  valley  or  on  the  rugged  moun- 
tain-side; finally,  admiration  would  inspire  religious 
feeling  in  all  men,  in  proportion  as  the  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful was  developed  in  them.  What  mountain  is  there 
that  has  not  its  beautiful  scenery  and  its  safe  place  of 
refuge,  and  which  is  not  either  terrible  or  beneficent — 
generally  both  together?  Wandering  tribes  can  easily 
connect  all  their  traditions  with  any  mountain  which 
happens  to  be  upon  their  horizon,  and  bring  their  relig- 
ion to  it ;  so  at  each  stage  in  their  long  journeys  a  new 
temple  erects  itself.  Formerly  the  wandering  tribes  on 
the  plains  of  Persia  towards  evening  always  saw  a  moun- 
tain rising  up  from  the  middle  of  the  sandy  plain  :  it  was 
Mount  Telesme,  the  holy  "  talisman,"  which  followed 
its  worshippers  in  their  wanderings  about  the  world ; 
and  when,  after  a  long  journey,  the  mountain  seen  from 
afar  proved  to  be  not  a  deceptive  image,  but  a  real 
height  with  its  snows  and  rocks,  who  could  then  doubt 
that  their  god  had  made  the  journey  to  accompany  his 
people  ? 

In  the  same  way,  the  mountain  on  whose  top  the  fugi- 
tives from  the  Deluge  landed  has  never  ceased  moving 
about  from  place  to  place.  A  Samaritan  version  of  the 
Pentateuch  asserts  that  Adam's  Peak  is  the  point  on 
which  Noah's  ark  came  to  anchor;  other  versions  de- 
clare that  Ararat  is  the  real  mountain  ;  but  which  Ararat 
is  it  ? — the  one  in  Armenia,  or  quite  a  different  one  on 


M 0 UNTA  IN-  WORSHIP.  169 

which  the  priests  have  found  remains  of  the  sacred  ship  ? 
In  every  part  of  the  East  the  people  claim  this  honor 
for  their  own  special  mountain,  whose  waters  irrigate 
their  lands :  that,  they  say,  is  the  mountain  from  which 
the  stream  of  life  came  back  to  earth,  following  the 
course  of  the  snows  and  brooks.  Proofs  are  by  no  means 
wanting  to  sustain  all  these  traditions:  have  they  not 
found  pieces  of  petrified  wood,  even  under  the  glaciers? 
and  in  the  rocks  themselves,  have  they  not  discovered 
traces  of  those  "rings  of  the. Deluge"  which  our  modern 
scientists  call  ammonite  fossils? 

Besides  these,  more  than  a  hundred  mountains  in  Per- 
sia, Syria,  Arabia,  and  Asia  Minor  claim  to  be  the  land- 
ing-place of  the  patriarch,  second  father  of  the  human 
race.  Greece  also  points  to  her  Parnassus,  from  which 
the  stones  were  thrown  upon  the  ground,  after  the  Del- 
uge, and  became  men.  Even  in  France  there  are  moun- 

O     f 

tains  .where  the  ark  is  said  to  have  anchored :  one  of 
these  sacred  heights  is  Chamechande,  near  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  of  Grenoble;  another  is  the  Puy  de  Prigue, 
above  the  sources  of  the  Aude. 

The  myth  has  the  merit  of  consistency ;  men  have 
always  descended  from  high  elevations :  it  is  also  from 
a  lofty  eminence,  the  throne  of  the  Deity,  that  the  great 
Voice  is  heard  declaring  their  duty  to  mortals.  The  God 
of  the  Jews  sat  on  the  summit  'of  Mount  Sinai  amid 
clouds  and  lightnings,  and  spoke  with  the  voice  of  thun-t 
der  to  the  people  assembled  on  the  plain.  In  the  same 
way  Baal,  Moloch — all  the  sanguinary  gods  of  those 
Oriental  races — appeared  to  their  faithful  on  the  tops  of 
mountains.  In  Arabia  Petrsea,  in  the  land  of  Edom  and 
Moab,  there  is  not  a  mountain  height,  not  a  hill,  not  a 


170  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

rock,  which  does  not  possess  its  great  pyramid  of  stones, 
the  altar  on  which  priests  have  sacrificed  blood  to  propi- 
tiate the  Deity.  At  Babel,  where  there  was  no  moun- 
tain, they  substituted  that  famous  temple  which  was  de- 
signed to  touch  the  heavens.  The  poet  has  restored 
this  giant  edifice,  not  as  it  was,  but  as  the  people  pict- 
ured it : 

"  Each  of  the  largest  mountains  with  its  granite  sides 
Would  furnish  but  one  stone." 

In  their  jealous  hatred  of  foreign  religions,  the  Jewish 
prophets  often  cursed  the  "  high-places,"  on  which  their 
neighbors  set  their  idols ;  but  they  themselves  did  not 
act  differently,  and  it  was  to  the  mountains  that  they 
looked,  thence  to  evoke  their  succoring  angels.  Their 
temple  was  erected  upon  a  mountain,  and  upon  a  moun- 
tain was  it  that  Elijah  conversed  with  God.  When  the 
Galilean  was  transfigured  and  floated  in  uncreated  light 
with  the  two  prophets,  Moses  and  Elijah,  it  was  from 
Mount  Tabor  that  He  ascended.  When  He  died  be- 
tween two  thieves,  it  was  upon  the  summit  of  a  moun- 
tain that  he  was  crucified;  and  when  He  shall  come 
again,  says  the  prophecy  —  when  He  shall  come  again, 
surrounded  by  saints  and  angels,  and  shall  take  part  in 
the  punishment  of  His  enemies,  it  is  upon  a  mountain 
that  He  shall  descend,  which  one  touch  of  His  foot  will 
suffice  to  break.  Another  mountain,  an  ideal  summit 
bearing  a  new  city  of  gold  and  diamonds,  will  spring  up 
in  the  luminous  space,  and  it  is  there  that  the  chosen 
will  live  for  evermore,  far  above  this  world  of  weariness 
and  woe. 


OLYMPUS  AND    THE  GODS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OLYMPDS    AND   THE  GODS. 

JUST  as  the  glory  of  invisible  Greece  surpasses  in  brill- 
iancy that  of  all  other  empires  of  the  East,  so  has 
Olympus,  the  loftiest,  most  beautiful  of  the  Hellenes' 
sacred  mountains,  become  in  people's  imaginations  the 
mountain  par  excellence;  no  other  peaks,  not  those  of 
Merou,  of  Elbnrz,  of  Ararat,  nor  of  Lebanon,  awaken 
in  the  minds  of  men  the  same  memories  of  grandeur  and 
majesty.  And  few,  indeed,  were  so  admirably  and  con- 
spicuously situated,  or  served  so  well  as  a  beacon  to  the 
races  overrunning  the  world.  Placed  in  an  angle  of  the 
.^Egean  Sea,  and  by  fully  half  its  height  overtopping  all 
the  neighboring  summits,  Olympus  can  be  perceived  by 
sailors  from  enormous  distances.  From  the  plains  of 
Macedonia,  from  the  rich  valleys  of  Thessaly,  from  the 
mountains  Othrys,  Pindus,  Bermius,  Athos,  its  triple 
dome, and  its  slopes  with  the  "thousand  folds"  of  which 
Homer  speaks,  can  be  distinguished  on  the  horizon.  The 
fertility  of  the  country  extended  at  its  feet  attracted  pop- 
ulations from  every  part,  who  rnet  there  to  mingle  and 
amalgamate  in  various  ways,  or  mutually  to  destroy  one 
another.  Finally,  Olympus  commands  the  defiles  which 
the  tribes  or  armies  on  the  march  from  Asia  into  Europe, 
or  from  Greece  to  the  barbarous  countries  of  the  north, 


172  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

were  obliged  to  pass  through ;  it  rises  up  like  a  milestone 
upon  the  great  highway  then  pursued  by  nations. 

Several  other  mountains  of  the  Hellenic  world  owed 
to  their  sparkling  snow  the  name  Olympus,  or  the  "lu- 
minous ;"  but  none  better  merited  it  than  that  of  Thes- 
saly,  whose  summit  served  as  a  throne  for  the  gods.  It 
was  in  the  plains  and  valleys  extended  beneath  the  shad- 
ow of  the  great  moimtain  that  the  people  of  Hellas  had 
passed  its  national  infancy.  It  was  from  Thessaly  that 
came  the  Hellenes  of  Attica  and  the  Peloponnesus ;  it 
was  there  that  their  first  heroes  had  done  battle  with 
monsters,  and  that  their  first  poets,  guided  by  the  voice 
of  the  Pierides,  had  composed  hymns  and  songs  of  glad- 
ness and  victory.  "While  flocking  towards  distant  lands, 
the  Greek  tribes  never  forgot  the  divine  mountain  which 
had  produced  and  nourished  them  in  its  dales. 

Almost  every  great  event  of  mythical  history  was  ac- 
complished in  that  portion  of  Greece;  the  most  impor- 
tant among  them  being  the  struggle  which  decided  be- 
tween the  sovereignty  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 
Olympus  was  the  citadel  chosen  by  the  new  gods,  and 
on  every  side  were  encamped  those  ancient  deities,  the 
monstrous  Titans,  sons  of  Chaos.  Standing  upon  the 
mountains  of  Othrys,  the  giants  seized  enormous  rocks, 
whole  mountains,  and  hurled  them  against  half-uprooted 
Olympus.  That  they  might  rise  still  higher  towards 
the  sky,  the  old  Titans  piled  mountain  upon  mountain, 
forming  a  pedestal  for  themselves,  but  the  great  snowy 
summit  always  overtopped  them ;  it  surrounded  itself 
with  dark  thunder-belching  clouds.  Supplied  with  the 
same  powers  by  the  earth,  the  giants'  voices  were  filled 
with  the  roaring  of  the  storms,  their  arms  with  the  vigor 


OLYMPUS   AXD    THE   GODS.  173 

of  the  tempest ;  with  their  hundred  arms  they  hurled  at 
random  their  hail-storm  of  rocks  ;  but  they  were  fighting 
with  the  blind  fury  of  the  elements  when  pitted  against 
the  young  intelligent  gods.  They  succumbed,  and  be- 
neath the  ruins  of  the  mountain  entire  nations  were  crush- 
ed with  them.  It  is  thus  that  the  caprices  of  kings  have 
often  caused  nations  to  be  massacred  as  if  inadvertently. 

Many  generations  had  passed  away  since  these  prodig- 
ious conflicts  of  Olympus,  ere  the  Ionic  and  Doric  tribes 
first  possessed  poets  to  sing  their  exploits,  and  subsequent- 
ly historians  to  recount  them.  Then  Zeus,  the  father  of 
gods  and  men,  sat  in  peace  upon  the  sacred  mountain  ; 
his  throne  was  placed  upon  the  highest  peak ;  by  his  side 
was  the  goddess  Here,  virgin  and  matron ;  around  him 
were  placed  the  immortals,  with  their  eternally  beautiful 
and  glad  countenances.  A  luminous  atmosphere  bathed 
the  summit  of  Olympus  and  played  amid  the  locks  of 
the  gods;  never  did  tempests  come  to  trouble  the  repose 
of  these  happy  beings ;  nor  rain  nor  snow  fell  upon  the 
radiant  summit.  The  clouds  collected  by  Zeus  were  un- 
rolled at  his  feet  around  the  rocks  forming  the  magnifi- 
cent base  of  his  throne.  Through  the  interstices  of  this 
veil,  which  the  Horse  opened  and  shut  according  to  their 
master's  will,  the  latter  looked  down  upon  the  earth  and 
sea,  the  cities  and  their  inhabitants. 

He  held  inflexible  destinies  suspended  above  the  heads 
of  these  struggling  men ;  he  decreed  life  or  death,  dis- 
tributed beneficent  rain  or  vengeful  thunder,  according 
to  his  caprice.  Ko  lamentation  ascending  from  below 
disturbed  the  gods  in  their  eternal  quiet.  Their  nectar 
was  ever  delicious,  their  ambrosia  always  exquisite. 
They  inhaled  with  relish  the  odor  of  hecatombs;  lis- 


174  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

tened,  as  if  to  music,  to  the  concert  of  suppliant  voices. 
Beneath  them  was  unrolled,  like  an  endless  picture,  the 
spectacle  of  struggles  and  of  human  miseries :  they  beheld 
armies  dash  against  one  another,  fleets  become  ingulfed, 
towns  disappear  amid  flames  and  smoke,  the  poor  toilers 
(almost  invisible  myrmidons)  exhausting  themselves  in 
efforts  to  gather  in  harvests  of  which  a  master  should 
despoil  them ;  even  beneath  the  roofs  of  the  dwellings 
they  saw  women  weeping  and  children  wailing.  Afar 
off  their  enemy,  Prometheus,  was  dying  upon  a  rock  of 
Mount  Caucasus.  Such  were  the  pleasures  of  the  gods. 

Did  ever  a  Hellene,  shepherd,  priest,  or  king,  dare  to 
climb  up  the  slopes  of  Olympus,  away  above  the  lofty 
pastures  of  its  dales  and  crests?  Did  even  one  only 
venture  by  placing  his  foot  upon  the  great  peak,  to  find 
himself  suddenly  in  the  presence  of  these  terrible  gods? 
Ancient  writers  tell  us  that  philosophers  are  not  afraid 
of  scaling  Mount  Etna,  although  much  higher  than  Olym- 
pus ;  but  they  never  mention  one  single  mortal  who  has 
had  the  temerity  to  ascend  the  mountain  of  the  gods, 
not  even  in  the  days  of  science,  in  that  age  when  philos- 
ophers taught  that  Zeus  and  the  other  immortals  were 
mere  conceptions  of  the  human  mind. 

Later  on,  other  religions,  disseminated  among  the  va- 
riolis  people  living  in  the  surrounding  plains,  took  pos- 
session of  the  sacred  mountain  and  consecrated  it  to  new 
divinities.  There  the  Greek  Christians  worshipped  the 
Holy  Trinity  instead  of  Zeus;  they  still  look  upon  its 
three  principal  peaks  as  the  three  great  thrones  of  heav- 
en. One  of  its  loftiest  points,  which  formerly  perhaps 
bore  a  temple  of  Apollo,  is  now  surmounted  by  a  mon- 
astery of  St.  Elias;  one  of  its  dales,  wherein  the  Bac- 


OLYMPUS  AND   THE  GODS.  175 

cliantes  were  wont  to  sing  Evoe!  in  honor  of  Dionysos 
or  Bacchus,  is  inhabited  by  the  monks  of  St.  Denys. 
Priests  have  succeeded  to  priests,  and  the  superstitious 
respect  of  modern  times  to  the  worship  of  the  ancient ; 
but  perhaps  the  highest  summit  is  yet  untrodden  by 
human  steps ;  the  soft  light,  resplendent  above  its  rocks 
and  snow,  has  not  beamed  upon  any  man  since  the  Hel- 
lenic gods  took  their  departure. 

A  few  years  ago  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  a 
European  to  attain  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  for 
the  Hellenic  Tdephtes,  unerring  shots,  occupied  all  its 
gorges ;  they  had  entrenched  themselves  in  it,  as  within 
an  enormous  citadel,  and  thence,  recommencing  the  con- 
flict of  the  gods  against  the  Titans,  they  set  out  upon 
their  expeditions  against  the  Turks  of  Mount  Ossa. 
Proud  of  their  courage,  they  believed  themselves  as  in- 
vincible as  the  mountain  upon  which  they  lived ;  they 
endowed  Olympus  itself  with  life..  "  I  am,"  said  one 
of  their  songs — "  I  am  Olympus,  illustrious  in  all  ages, 
and  renowned  amid  nations;  forty -two  peaks  bristle 
upon  my  brow ;  seventy-two  fountains  flow  down  my 
ravines,  and  an  eagle  is  perched  upon  my  highest  sum- 
mit bearing  in  its  claws  the  head  of  a  valiant  hero !" 

o 

This  eagle,  no  doubt,  was  that  of  ancient  Zeus.  Even 
nowadays  he  feeds  on  man,  by  man  destroyed. 

People's  imagination  knows  no  limits  concerning  the 
gods  it  has  created.  In  the  course  of  centuries  it  has 
changed  their  names,  their  attributes,  and  their  powers, 
according  to  the  alternations  of  history,  the  changes  of 
languages,  the  individual  and  national  variations  of  tra- 
ditions ;  finally,  it  has  caused  them  to  die,  as  it  gave 
them  birth,  and  has  replaced  them  by  new  divinities 


176  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

It  thus  costs  them  but  little  to  make  their  journey  from 
mountain  to  mountain.  Each  summit,  too,  possessed  its 
own  god  or  even  its  Pleiades  of  celestial  beings.  Zeus 
dwelt  upon  Mount  Ida  just  as  he  did  upon  the  Olympus 
of  Greece,  upon  that  of  Crete,  of  Cyprus,  and  upon  the 
rocks  of  the  ^Egina ;  Apollo  had  his  dwelling  upon  Par- 
nassus and  Helicon,  upon  Cyllene  and  Taygetus,  upon 
all  the  scattered  mountains  rising  out  of  the  JEgean 
Sea.  The  peaks,  gilded  by  the  rays  of  dawning  day, 
when  the  lower  plains  still  lay  in  shadow,  were  to  be 
consecrated  to  the  god  of  the  sun.  And  almost  all  the 
isolated  summits  of  Hellas  at  the  present  day  bear  the 
name  of  Elias.  The  Jewish  prophet,  by  virtue  of  his 
name,  has  thus  become  the  heir  of  Helios,  son  of  Jupiter. 
"  Behold  this  throne,  the  centre  of  the  earth,"  said  ^Es- 
chylus,  in  speaking  of  Delphos.  This  central  pillar  rose 
up  in  many  another  place,  according  to  the  poet's  fancy 
or  popular  imagination.  Pindar  beheld  it  in  Etna ;  the 
sailors  from  the  Archipelago  pointed  out  Mount  Athos, 
that  great  landmark  which  could  always  be  discerned 
above  the  waters,  whether  on  quitting  the  shores  of  Asia 
or  while  sailing  on  the  seas  of  Europe.  So  lofty  is  this 
mountain  that  upon  it  the  sun  is  said  to  go  to  rest  three 
hours  later  than  in  the  plains  at  its  feet ;  it  can  overlook 
the  most  distant  confines  of  the  earth.  When  Hellas, 
formerly  free,  was  subjugated  by  the  Macedonian,  when 
it  became  the  slave  of  a  master,  it  found  a  flatterer  vile 
enough,  a  man  sycophantish  enough,  to  implore  Alexan- 
der, who.  had  decreed  that  he  should  be  proclaimed  a 
god,  to  employ  an  army  to  transform  Mount  Athos  into 
a  statue  of  the  new  son  of  Zeus,  "more  powerful  than 
his  father." 


OLYMPUS  AND   THE  GODS.  177 

This  impossible  task  might  have  tempted  an  upstart 
god,  who  was  mad  with  pride ;  yet  even  Alexander  dared 
not  undertake  it.  The  mariners  sailing  at  the  foot  of 
the  great  mountain  continued  to  look  upon  it  as  an  an- 
cient deity  until  the  day  whereon  began  another  cycle 
in  history,  bringing  with  it  a  new  religion  and  new  di- 
vinities. Then  people  told  how  Mount  Athos  was  the 
very  mountain  to  which  the  devil  transported  Jesus  the 
Galilean,  to  show  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  ly- 
ing outstretched  at  his  feet — Europe,  Asia,  and  the  isl- 
ands of  the  sea.  The  inhabitants  of  Athos  still  believe 
this;  and  would  it,  indeed,  be  possible  to  find  a  peak 
whence  the  view,  if  not  more  vast,  at  least  were  more 
beautiful  or  more  varied  ? 

Outside  the  Hellenic  world,  where  popular  imagina- 
tion was  so  poetical  and  so  fertile,  the  people  looked 
upon  their  mountains  as  the  thrones  of  the  lords  of 
heaven  and  earth.  Not  only  were  the  great  summits  of 
the  Alps  worshipped  as  the  dwelling-place  of  the  gods, 
and  as  the  gods  themselves,  but  even  as  far  as  the  plains 
of  Northern  Germany  and  of  Denmark,  little  hills,  rais- 
ing their  brows  above  the  uniform  level,  were  Mounts 
Olympus,  not  less  venerated  than  that  of  Thessaly  had 
been  by  the  Greeks;  even  in  distant  Iceland,  in  that 
land  of  fogs  and  eternal  frosts,  the  worshippers  of  celes- 
tial sovereigns  turned  to  the  mountains  of  the  interior, 
believing  to  behold  in  them  the  throne  of  their  deities. 
Without  doubt,  had  they  been  able  to  climb  to  the  top 
of  these  volcanoes,  furrowed  with  deep  ravines,  if  they 
had  beheld  the  horror  of  these  craters  wherein  lava  and 
snow  incessantly  struggled  together,  they  would  never 
have  thought  of  making  these  terrible  places  the  en- 


178  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

chanted  homes  of  their  happy  divinities.  But  they  only 
viewed  these  mountains  from  afar;  they  perceived  the 
peaks  sparkling  through  the  riven  clouds,  and  pictured 
them  the  more  beautiful  in  proportion  as  the  plains  at 
their  base  were  wilder  and  more  difficult  to  traverse. 
These  mountains,  separated  from  the  earth  of  mankind 
by  barriers  of  impassable  precipices,  were  the  city  of 
Asgard,  where,  beneath  an  ever -clement  sky,  dwelt  the 
blissful  gods.  The  great  cloud  of  vapors,  ascending  from 
the  summit  of  the  divine  mountain,  and  stretching  far 
athwart  the  sky,  was  no  column  of  cinders ;  it  was  the 
giant  ash-tree  Yggdrasil,  beneath  whose  shadow  reposed 
the  masters  of  the  universe. 


"  THEY    PERCEIVED    THK    PEAKS    SPARKLING    THROUGH    THE    RIVEN    CLOUDS. 


GENII.  179 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

GENII. 

RELIGIONS  are  slowly  transformed.  Those  of  the  an- 
cient world,  apparently  extinguished  for  so  many  gener- 
ations, continue  to  exist  beneath  the  exterior  of  modern 
beliefs.  The  names  of  the  gods  have  frequently  been 
changed,  but  the  altar  has  remained  the  same.  The  at- 
tributes of  the  Divinity  are  still  what  they  were. two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  the  faith  which  invokes  it  has  pre- 
served the  "holy  simplicity"  of  its  fanaticism.  In  the 
wild  valleys  of  Olympus,  where  gambolled  the  dishev- 
elled Bacchantes,  monks  now  mutter  their  prayers ;  upon 
holy  Mount  Athos,  worshipped  from  the  surface  of  the 
murmuring  waves  by  mariners  of  every  race  and  every 
tongue,  nine  hundred  and  thirty-six  churches  rise  up  in 
honor  of  all  the  saints  ;  the  God  of  Christians  has  become 
the  heir  of  Zeus,  who  himself  succeeded  more  ancient 
deities.  Just  so  at  Syracuse,  the  Temple  of  Minerva, 
whose  golden  spire  the  sailors  saluted  from  afar  by  pour- 
ing a  beaker  of  wine  into  the  waters,  has  been  changed 
into  a  church  of  the  Holy  Virgin.  Every  promontory 
running  into  the  sea,  and  on  land  every  brow  of  a  hill, 
every  mountain  crowned  with  a  temple,  has  retained  its 
worshippers  while  changing  its  name.  A  traveller  wan- 
ders over  the  Island  of  Cyprus  in  search  of  a  temple  of 


180  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

Venus  Aphrodite.  "  "We  no  longer  call  her  Aphrodite," 
devoutly  cries  the  woman  whom  he  questions ;  "  we  now 
call  he*r  the  Chrysopolite  Virgin." 

But  not  only  have  Christian  nations  continued  to  ven- 
erate the  sacred  mountains  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
they  have  also  propagated  that  religion  in  their  own 
fashion  throughout  every  country  inhabited  by  them,  in 
the  same  manner  as  our  forefathers  in  legendary  days. 
Our  nearer  ancestors,  living  in  the  Middle  Ages,  could 
not  look  upon  a  mountain  without  their  imagination  peo- 
pling its  mysterious  valleys  and  radiant  summits  with  su- 
perior beings.  It  is  true  that  these  beings  had  no  right 
to  the  title  of  gods :  cursed  by  the  Church,  they  trans- 
formed themselves  into  devils,  into  malevolent  demons ; 
or  perhaps,  tolerated  by  it,  they  became  tutelary  genii, 
unrecognized  gods,  merely  invoked  by  stealth. 

Jupiter,  Apollo,  Venus,  having  descended  from  their 
thrones,  took  refuge  in  the  depths  of  caves ;  they  whose 
august  faces  had  beamed  in  light  were  condemned  hence- 
forth to  live  in  the  darkness  of  caverns. 

The  Olympic  feasts  were  transformed  into  nocturnal 
revels,  whither  went  hideous  witches  riding  on  brooms, 
to  evoke  the  devil  on  tempestuous  nights.  Then,  too,  the 
cold  climate,  the  cloudy  sky  of  our  northern  countries, 
must  have  greatly  contributed  to  the  imprisonment  of 
the  ancient  gods.  How  could  they,  beneath  wind  and 
snow,  in  the  midst  of  storms,  carry  on  their  joyful  ban- 
quets, enjoy  their  ambrosia,  and  play  upon  their  golden 
lyres  ?  "We  can  hardly  even  in  our  dreams  picture  their 
presence  in  these  fantastic  palaces,  constructed  in  one 
moment  by  the  sun's  rays  upon  those  effulgent  peaks,  and 
vanishing  not  less  quickly  like  visions  or  vain  mirages! 


GENII.  »*     181 

Gods  and  genii  are  the  personification  of  all  that  man 
dreads  and  desires.  All  his  terrors,  all  his  passions,  for- 
merly assumed  a  supernatural  form.  Some,  too,  among 
the  mountain  spirits  are  redoubtable  magicians,  who  burn 
the  grass  of  the  meadows,  kill  the  cattle,  cast  a  spell  over 
the  passers-by ;  others,  on  the  contrary,  are  benevolent 
beings,  whose  favor  is  conciliated  by  the  libation  of  a 
bowl  of  milk,  or  even  by  a  simple  incantation.  It  is  the 
good  spirit  that  the  shepherd  implores  to  make  his  lambs 
grow  strong  and  his  heifers  unblemished.  It  is  of  him 
especially  that  young  and  old,  male  and  female,  ask  that 
which  unhappily  would  be  for  almost  all  the  supreme  joy 
of  life — gold,  riches,  treasures.  Old  traditions  tell  us  how 
the  genii  of  the  mountain  glide  into  the  veins  of  the 
stones  therein  to  insert  crystals  and  metal,  variously  to 
mingle  earth  and  minerals.  Other  legends  tell  us  how 
and  at  what  hour  we  must  knock  at  the  sacred  stone  hid- 
ing the  riches ;  what  signs  must  be  made,  what  strange 
syllables  must  be  pronounced.  But  let  one  item  be  for- 
gotten, one  sound  assume  the  place  of  another,  and  all 
the  formulas  of  incantation  are  futile. 

I  have  seen  enormous  excavations  undertaken  by  moun- 
taineers at  the  top  of  a  rocky  point  concealed  by  snow 
during  nine  months  in  the  year.  That  point  was  conse- 
crated to  a  saint,  who  himself  had  succeeded  to  a  pagan 
deity  as  the  guardian  of  the  mountain.  Each  summer 
the  treasure-seekers  returned  to  dig  farther  into  the  sum- 
mit, making  use  of  sacramental  words  and  gestures. 
They  found  nothing  but  slabs  of  schist  beneath  other 
similar  slabs;  yet,  unwearyingly,  some  greedy  digger 
would  continue  his  work,  striving  to  invoke  the  spirit 
by  some  novel  formula,  some  victorious  cry. 


182     *  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN, 

More  interesting  than  these  guardian  deities  of  treas- 
ures are  those  who,  in  the  mountain  caverns,  are  charged 
to  preserve  the  genius  of  a  whole  race.  Concealed  in 
the  depths  of  the  rock,  they  represent  the  entire  people, 
with  its  traditions,  its  history,  its  future.  As  old  as  the 
mountain  itself,  they  will  endure  as  long  as  it ;  and  so 
long  as  they  live  will  that  race  exist  of  which  the  vari- 
ous groups  are  scattered  in  the  surrounding  valleys.  It 
is  the  spirit  who,  in  his  profound  thought,  concentrates 
all  the  bustle,  all  the  flux  and  reflux,  of  the  busy  nation 
at  his  feet.  Thus  the  Basques  look  with  pride  at  the 
peak  of  Anie,  where  hides  their  god,  unknown  to  the 
priests,  but  all  the  more  real.  "  So  long  as  he  is  there," 
say  they,  "  we  shall  be  there  too !"  And  willingly  they 
would  believe  themselves  to  be  eternal,  they  whose  lan- 
guage will  disappear  to-morrow ! 

To  the  same  order  of  popular  beliefs  belong  the  leg- 
ends of  those  warriors  or  prophets  who,  hidden  in  some 
deep  mountain  cave,  are  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  day. 
Such  is  the  myth  of  that  German  emperor  who  sat  dream- 
ing, leaning  his  elbows  upon  a  table  of  stone,  and  whose 
white  beard,  constantly  growing  longer,  had  taken  root 
in  the  rock.  Sometimes  a  huntsman,  perhaps  a  bandit, 
would  penetrate  into  the  cavern  and  trouble  the  dream 
of  the  mighty  old  man.  The  latter  would  slowly  lift  up 
his  head,  ask  a  question  of  the  trembling  intruder,  then 
resume  his  interrupted  dream.  "  Not  yet !"  sighed  he. 
For  what  was  he  waiting  that  he  might  die  in  peace  ? 
No  doubt  the  echo  of  some  great  battle,  the  odor  of  some 
river  of  human  blood,  an  immense  revel  in  honor  of  his 
reign.  Ah  !  may  that  last  battle  have  already  been  de- 
livered, and  the  gloomy  emperor  now  be  nothing  more 
than  a  heap  of  ashes ! 


GENII.  183 

• 

How  much  more  touching,  much  more  beautiful,  is  that 
legend  of  the  three  Switzers  who  are  also  awaiting  day- 
break in  the  depths  of  a  lofty  mountain  of  the  old  can- 
tons !  They  are  three,  like  those  three  who  in  the  mead- 
ows of  Gratli  vowed  to  set  themselves  free ;  and  all  three 
bear  the  name  of  Tell,  as  did  he  who  overthrew  the  ty- 
rant. They,  too,  sleep — they  dream.  But  it  is  not  of 
glory  that  they  are  thinking ;  it  is  of  liberty — not  only 
of  Swiss  liberty,  but  of  that  of  all  mankind.  From  time 
to  time  one  will  go  forth  to  look  upon  the  world  of  lakes 
and  plains,  yet  sadly  he  returns  to  his  companions.  "  Not 
yet !"  sighs  he.  The  great  day  of  deliverance  is  not  come. 
Ever  slaves,  the  people  have  not  ceased  to  worship  their 
masters'  hats. 


184  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MAN. 

LET  us  wait,  however,  wait  with  confidence ;  the  day 
will  come ;  the  gods  will  pass  away,  bearing  with  them 
the  corteges  of  kings,  their  melancholy  representatives 
upon  earth.  Man  is  slowly  learning  to  speak  the  language 
of  liberty ;  he  will  also  learn  to  practise  its  customs. 

Those  mountains  which  at  least  possess  the  merit  of 
being  beautiful  belong  to  the  number  of  gods  whom 
we  are  beginning  not  to  worship.  Their  thunders  and 
avalanches  have  ceased  to  be  for  us  the  fulminations  of 
Jupiter;  their  clouds  are  no  longer  the  robe  of  Juno. 
Henceforth  we  can  fearlessly  invade  the  high  valleys,  the 
abode  of  the  gods  whither  the  genii  repair.  It  is  pre- 
cisely the  once-dreaded  summits  which  have  become  the 
aim  of  thousands  of  travellers  who  have  set  before  them- 
selves the  task  of  leaving  not  a  single  rock,  not  a  single 
bed  of  ice,  untrodden  by  human  footsteps.  In  our  popu- 
lous countries  of  Western  Europe  every  summit  has  al- 
ready been  successively  conquered  ;  those  of  Asia,  Africa, 
America,  will  be  so  in  their  turn.  Now  that  the  era  of 
great  geographical  discoveries  is  almost  at  an  end,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  lakes,  the  world  is  almost 
entirely  known,  other  travellers,  obliged  to  content  them- 
selves with  lesser  glory,  dispute  with  one  another,  in 


MAN.  185 

great  numbers  the  honor  of  being  the  first  to  ascend  the 
as  yet  unvisited  mountains.  These  climbing  amateurs  go 
as  far  as  Greenland  in  search  of  some  unknown  summit. 

Among  them  are  some  who,  striving  annually  during 
the  summer  season  to  ascend  a  difficult  lofty  peak,  are 
stirred  by  a  vainglorious  motive.  People  say  that  they 
seek  a  contemptible  means  of  causing  their  names  to  be 
repeated  in  newspaper  after  newspaper,  as  if  by  a  simple 
ascent  they  had  performed  some  work  of  use  to  man- 
kind. Arrived  at  the  summit,  with  hands  stiffened  by 
the  cold,  they  indite  a  detailed  report  of  their  triumph, 
noisily  uncork  bottles  of  champagne,  fire  off  pistols  like 
true  conquerors,  and  frantically  wave  their  flags.  They 
bring  several  stones  to  that  part  of  the  mountain-peak 
which  is  not  clothed  with  a  dense  cupola  of  snow,  adding 
a  few  inches  to  its  height.  They  are  kings,  lords  of  the 
world,  since  the  whole  mountain  is  to  them  but  an  enor- 
mous pedestal,  and  they  behold  kingdoms  lying  at  their 
feet.  They  put  out  their  hands  as  if  to  grasp  it.  It  was 
thus  that  a  rustic  poet,  invited  for  the  first  time  to  visit 
a  royal  castle,  asked  permission  to  ascend  the  throne  for 
one  moment.  No  sooner  did  he  find  himself  there  than 
the  dizzy  sensation  of  power  took  possession  of  him. 
He  saw  a  fly  flitting  beside  him.  "  Ah !  I  am  a  king 
nowr ;  I  will  crush  you !"  and  with  one  blow  of  his 
doubled-up  hand  he  stretched  the  poor  insect  upon  the 
arm  of  the  gilded  chair. 

Yet  even  the  modest  man — he  who  never  talks  of  his 
ascents,  and  does  not  aspire  to  the  ephemeral  glory  of 
having  scaled  some  difficult  peak — even  he  experiences 
great  delight  when  he  plants  his  foot  upon  a  lofty  sum- 
mit. It  was  not  merely  with  the  wish  of  assisting  science 


186  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN. 

that  De  Saussure  kept  his  eyes  fixed  for  years  upon  the 
dome  of  Mont  Blanc,  that  he  made  so  many  attempts 
to  ascend  it.  When,  subsequently  to  Balmat,  he  did 
reach  the  snow,  until  then  inviolate,  he  was  not  only 
delighted  to  be  able  to  make  fresh  observations,  but  he 
also  indulged  in  the  naive  happiness  of  having  at  last 
surmounted  that  rebellious  mountain.  Both  the  hunts- 
man who  pursues  animals  and  he  who,  alas !  pursues  man 
are  also  delighted  when,  after  a  desperate  chase  through 
woods  and  ravines,  hills  and  valleys,  they  find  themselves 
face  to  face  with  their  victim,  and  succeed  in  bringing 
him  down  with  a  bullet.  Fatigues,  dangers,  nothing  has 
stayed  them,  supported  as  they  were  by  hope ;  and,  now 
that  they  rest  beside  their  fallen  prey,  they  forget  all 
that  they  have  undergone.  The  mountain-climber,  like 
the  huntsman,  experiences  the  delight  of  conquest  after 
toil ;  yet  he  enjoys  the  pleasure  all  the  more  in  that  he 
has  risked  none  but  his  own  life ;  he  has  kept  his  hands 
unstained. 

In  making  great  ascents,  danger  is  often  very  near, 
and  the  risk  of  death  run  every  moment;  but  on  the 
climber  goes,  feeling  supported,  kept  up  by  a  strong 
sense  of  gladness  at  the  contemplation  of  all  those  per- 
ils which  he  knows  how  to  avoid  by  the  strength  of  his 
muscles  and  his  ready  presence  of  mind.  Frequently  he 
is  obliged  to  creep  along  a  slope  of  frozen  snow,  whereon 
the  slightest  false  step  would  dash  him  over  a  precipice. 
At  other  times  he  crawls  upon  a  glacier,  hanging  on  to 
a  simple  ledge  of  snow,  which,  if  it  were  to  give  way, 
would  cast  him  into  a  fathomless  gulf.  Often,  too,  it 
happens  that  he  must  scale  walls  of  rocks  by  projections 
hardly  wide  enough  for  one  foot  to  find  standing-room, 


MAN.  187 

and  which  are  covered  with  a  crust  of  sheet-ice,  trem- 
bling, so  to  say,  under  the  influence  of  the  icy  water 
trickling  beneath.  But  such  are  his  courage  and  calmness 
of  mind  that  not  a  muscle  allows  itself  to  make  one 
wrong  movement,  arid  all  is  in  perfect  harmony  in  the 
effort  to  avert  the  danger.  A  traveller  slips  upon  a  steep 
rock  of  polished  slate,  ending  abruptly  at  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  a  hundred  yards  deep.  He  descends  with 
dizzy  rapidity  down  the  slippery  incline;  but  he  stretches 
himself  out  at  full  length  so  as  to  present  a  larger  sur- 
face of  friction  and  to  take  advantage  of  every  little 
asperity  of  the  rock ;  he  uses  his  arms  and  legs  so  skil- 
fully as  brakes  that  at  last  he  stops  himself  on  the  edge 
of  the  abyss.  Just  there  a  tiny  streamlet  ripples  over 
the  stone  before  tumbling  down  as  a  waterfall.  The 
traveller  was  thirsty.  He  coolly  drank,  dipping  his  face 
in  the  water,  ere  he  thought  of  getting  up  to  resume  his 
path  over  a  less  perilous  rock. 

The  traveller  loves  the  mountain  all  the  more  for  the 
risk  he  runs  of  perishing  upon  it ;  but  the  sense  of  dan- 
ger overcome  is  not  the  only  pleasure  of  the  ascent,  es- 
pecially to  a  man  who  during  the  course  of  his  life-time 
has  been  obliged  to  undergo  hard  struggles  in  order  to 
do  his  duty.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  cannot  refuse  to 
look  upon  the  road  just  traversed,  with  its  difficult  passes, 
its  snow,  its  crevasses,  its  obstacles  of  every  kind,  as  an 
image  of  the  toilsome  path  of  virtue ;  this  comparison  of 
material  matters  with  the  moral  world  forces  itself  upon 
his  mind.  "In  defiance  of  nature,  I  have  succeeded," 
thinks  he;  "I  have  placed  the  summit  beneath  my  feet; 
I  have  suffered,  it  is  true,  but  I  have  conquered,  and  the 
task  is  accomplished."  This  feeling  acts  with  all  its 


188  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

force  upon  those  who  make  it  a  truly  scientific  mission 
to  ascend  a  dangerous  height,  either  to  study  its  rocks 
and  fossils,  or  to  set  up  their  instruments  and  sketch  a 
map  of  the  country.  They  have,  indeed,  the  right  to 
applaud  themselves  when  they  have  gained  the  top;  if 
any  evil  befalls  them  on  their  journey,  they  have  a  right 
to  the  dignity  of  a  martyr.  Grateful  mankind  ought  to 
remember  their  names,  noble  in  a  very  different  manner 
from  that  of  so  many  fictitiously  great  men ! 

Sooner  or  later  the  heroic  ages  of  exploring  mountains 
must  come  to  an  end,  as  will  that  of  exploring  the  earth 
itself,  and  the  fame  of  the  renowned  travellers  will  have 
been  transformed  into  a  legend.  One  after  another  the 
ascent  of  every  mountain  in  populous  countries  will  have 
been  made ;  easy  footpaths,  then  driving-roads,  will  have 
been  constructed  from  the  base  to  the  summit,  in  order 
to  facilitate  the  means  of  access,  even  for  those  who  are 
worn  out  and  feeble;  a  mine  will  have  been  sprung  in 
the  crevasses  of  glaciers  to  show  cockneys  the  texture  of 
the  crystals;  mechanical  hoists  will  have  been  erected 
upon  the  walls  of  mountains  formerly  inaccessible,  and 
"  tourists  "  will  allow  themselves  to  be  whisked  up  dizzy 
heights  while  smoking  their  cigars  and  talking  scandal. 

But  are  we  not  already  enabled  to  ascend  mountains 
by  rail?  Inventors  have  now  produced  hill  locomotives, 
so  that  we  can  plunge  into  the  free  air  of  the  skies  dur- 
ing the  postprandial  hour  of  digestion.  Americans, 
practical  even  in  their  poetiy,  have  invented  this  novel 
mode  of  ascent.  In  order,  more  quickly  and  without 
fatigue,  to  reach  the  summit  of  their  most  venerated 
mountain,  to  which  they  have  given  the  name  of  Wash- 
ington, the  hero  of  their  independence,  they  have  con- 


MAN.  189 

nected  it  with  their  railways.  Kocks  and  pastures  are 
encircled  by  a  winding  iron  road,  which  the  trains  alter- 
nately ascend  and  descend,  whistling,  and  revolving  their 
wheels  like  gigantic  serpents.  A  station  is  built  upon 
the  summit,  as  are  refreshment-rooms  and  kiosks  in  the 
Chinese  style.  The  traveller  in  search  of -views  finds 
biscuits,  liquor,  and  poems  on  the  rising  sun. 

"What  the  Americans  have  done  for  Washington  the 
Swiss  have  hastened  to  copy  for  the  Rigi,  in  the  midst 
of  that  grandiose  panorama  of  their  lakes  and  mountains. 
They  have  also  done  it  for  the  Uetli,  and  will  erelong 
do  it  for  other  mountains ;  they  will,  so  to  say,  bring  the 
summits  down  to  the  level  of  the  plains.  Locomotives 
will  pass  from  valley  to  valley  away  across  the  tops  of 
mountains,  as  a  ship  rising  and  falling  passes  over  the 
waves  of  the  sea.  As  to  such  mountains  as  the  loftiest 
peaks  of  the  Andes  and  Himalayas,  too  high  up  in  the 
regions  of  cold  for  man  to  go  to  their  summits,  the  day 
will  come,  after  all,  when  he  shall  be  able  to  reach  them. 
Balloons  have  already  carried  him  two  or  three  hundred 
thousand  yards  high ;  other  aeronauts  will  bear  and  de- 
posit him  on  Gaurisankar,  as  far  as  the  "  Great  Diadem 
of  the  Dazzling  Heaven." 

In  this  great  work  of  regulating  nature,  man  does  not 
confine  himself  to  rendering  mountains  easy  of  access ; 
in  case  of  need,  he  labors  to  do  away  with  them.  Not 
contented  with  making  driving -roads  that  ascend  the 
most  arduous  mountains,  engineers  pierce  the  obstruct- 
ing rocks,  enabling  their  railways  to  pass  through  from 
valley  to  valley.  In  spite  of  all  the  obstacles  placed 
across  his  path  by  nature,  man  moves  on ;  he  creates  a 
new  earth  adapted  to  his  wants.  When  he  requires  a 

10 


190  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN. 

great  harbor  of  refuge  for  his  vessels,  he  takes  a  cliff  on 
the  sea-coast,  and  rock  by  rock  casts  it  to  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean  in  order  to  construct  a  breakwater.  Why,  if 
the  fancy  seized  him,  should  he  not  also  take  great 
mountains,  triturate  and  scatter  the  remains  upon  the 
plains  ? 

But  stay!  this  work,  too,  has  already  been  begun.  In 
California  the  miners,  weary  of  waiting  until  the  streams 
should  bring  down  the  sand  spangled  with  gold,  have 
been  inspired  writh  the  idea  of  attacking  the  mountain 
itself.  In  many  places  they  crush  the  hard  rock  to  ex- 
tract the  metal ;  but  this  work  is  difficult  and  expensive. 
The  task  is  easier  when  they  have  a  movable  soil  before 
them,  such  as  shifting  sand  and  pebbles.  Then  they  in- 
stal  themselves  before  it,  and  with  enormous  fire-pumps 
unceasingly  wash  down  the  sides  with  great  jets  of  water, 
thus  little  by  little  demolishing  the  mountain  to  obtain 
every  particle  of  gold  it  contains.  In  France  they  have 
thought  of  clearing  away,  in  a  similar  manner,  enormous 
heaps  of  ancient  alluvions  accumulated  in  plateaux  in 
front  of  the  Pyrenees ;  by  means  of  canals,  all  this  detri- 
tus, transformed  into  fertilizing  mud,  would  serve  to  raise 
and  cultivate  the  barren  plains  of  the  Landes. 

These  are,  indeed,  considerable  steps  of  progress.  The 
time  is  past  when  the  only  mountain  roads  were  such 
narrow  tracks  that  two  pedestrians  coming  from  contrary 
directions  could  not  pass,  and  the  one  was  obliged  to  walk 
across  the  back  of  the  other  lying  upon  the  path.  Every 
point  of  the  earth  will  become  accessible  even  to  the  sick 
and  delicate ;  at  the  same  time,  every  resource  will  be 
utilized,  Und  man's  life  will  thus  find  itself  prolonged  by 
every  hour  gained  by  his  efforts,  while  his  possessions 


MAN.  191 

are  increased  by  all  the  treasures  snatched  from  the 
earth.  But,  like  everything  human,  this  progress  brings 
with  it  corresponding  abuses;  sometimes  we  should  be 
on  the  point  of  cursing  it,  as  formerly  speech,  writing, 
books,  and  even  thought  were  cursed.  Whatever  the 
lovers  of  the  good  old  times  may  say,  life,  so  rough  for 
the  bulk  of  mankind,  will  yet  become  daily  smoother. 
It  is  for  us  to  see  that  a  sound  education  shall  arm  the 
young  man  with  an  energetic  Mall  and  render  him  ever 
capable  of  an  heroic  effort,  the  sole  means  of  preserving 
mankind  in  its  moral  and  natural  vigor !  It  is  for  us  to 
replace  by  methodical  trials  this  hard  battle  of  existence 
by  which  it  is  now  necessary  to  purchase  strength  of 
mind.  Formerly,  when  life  was  one  incessant  struggle 
between  man  and  man  or  wild  beasts,  a  youth  was  looked 
upon  as  a  child  until  he  had  brought  a  bleeding  trophy 
back  to  the  paternal  hut.  He  was  obliged  to  prove  the 
strength  of  his  arm,  the  steadfastness  of  his  courage,  be- 
fore he  dared  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  the  council  of  war- 
riors. In  those  countries  where  there  was  less  danger  of 
having  to  measure  his  valor  with  that  of  an  enemy  than 
of  having  to  endure  hunger,  cold,  and  hardships,  the  can- 
didate for  the  title  of  man  would  be  left  in  a  forest  with- 
out food,  without  clothing,  exposed  to  the  biting  wind 
and  stinging  insects;  he  was  obliged  to  remain  there, 
motionless,  his  face  calm  and  proud,  and  after  days  of 
waiting  he  would,  uttering  never  a  complaint,  still  have 
determination  enough  to  allow  himself  to  be  tortured, 
by  assisting  at  an  abundant  repast  without  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  take  his  share.  In  these  days  such  barbarous 
ordeals  are  not  imposed  upon  our  young  people,  but,  at 
the  risk  of  injuring  and  stupefying  them,  we  must  know 


]92  THE  HISTORY  OF  A   MOUNTAIN. 

how  to  arm  our  children  with  a  lofty  steadfast  spirit,  not 
only  capable  of  resisting  all  possible  evils,  but  especially 
all  the  temptations  of  life.  Let  us  labor  to  render  man- 
kind happy,  but  let  us  at  the  same  time  teach  it  how  to 
make  its  own  happiness  subservient  to  virtue. 

In  this  excellent  task,  the  bringing-up  of  our  children, 
and  through  them  of  the  future  human  species,  the 
mountain  has  to  play  the  principal  part.  Free  nature 
with  its  beautiful  landscapes,  upon  which  we  gaze,  its 
laws,  which  we  eagerly  study  from  life,  and  its  obstacles, 
too,  which  we  must  overcome,  ought  to  be  our  real  school. 
It  is  not  in  narrow  rooms  with  barred  windows  that  we 
can  produce  brave,  true-hearted  men.  Let  us  rather  grant 
them  the  delight  of  bathing  in  mountain  lakes  and  tor- 
rents ;  let  us  take  them  out  to  wander  over  glaciers  and 
fields  of  snow;  let  us  lead  them  on  to  climb  up  lofty 
heights.  ISTot  alone  will  they  thus  learn  without  diffi- 
culty that  which  no  book  can  teach  them,  not  only  will 
they  remember  all  that  they  shall  have  learned  in  those 
blissful  days  when  their  impression  of  the  professor's 
voice  became  blended  with  the  view  of  lovely  and  vast 
scenery,  but  they  will  also  find  themselves  confronted 
with  danger,  and  they  will  have  merrily  faced  it.  Study 
will  be  a  pleasure  to  them,  and  their  character  will  be 
formed  in  gladness. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  accom- 
plishing most  important  changes  in  the  aspect  of  nature 
as  well  as  in  the  life  of  man.  The  external  world,  whose 
form  we  have  already  so  powerfully  modified,  we  shall, 
according  to  our  custom,  even  still  more  vigorously  trans- 
form. In  proportion  as  our  knowledge  and  material 
power  increase,  our  will  as  men  will  manifest  itself  more 


MAN.  193 

and  more  imperiously  towards  nature.  At  this  very  time 
almost  all  so-called  civilized  nations  still  employ  the 
greatest  portion  of  their  annual  savings  in  preparing  the 
means  of  killing  one  another  and  in  mutually  devastat- 
ing their  respective  territories;  but  when,  wiser,  they 
shall  apply  themselves  to  augmenting  the  produce  of  the 
land,  of  jointly  making  use  of  all  the  powers  of  the  earth, 
of  doing  away  with  all  the  natural  obstacles  raised  by  it 
against  our  free  movements,  then  the  whole  appearance 
of  the  planet  bearing  us  along  in  its  vortex  will  be 
changed.  Each  nation  will,  so  to  say,  give  a  new  vest- 
ment to  the  nature  surrounding  it.  By  its  fields,  its 
roads,  its  dwellings,  and  its  buildings  of  every  kind,  by 
the  grouping  of  its  trees  and  the  general  arrangement  of 
the  landscape,  each  nation  will  display  the  extent  of  its 
own  taste.  If  it  really  possesses  a  sense  of  beauty,  it  will 
render  nature  more  beautiful ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  the 
great  mass  of  mankind  should  remain  such  as  it  is  to-day, 
coarse,  egotistical,  and  false,  it  will  continue  to  imprint 
its  sad  qualities  upon  the  world.  Then  would  the  poet's 
cry  of  despair  become  truth  —  "Whither  shall  I  fly? 
Mature  increases  in  hideonsness !" 

Whatsoever  may  be  the  future  of  man,  or  the  aspect 
of  the  world  which  he  may  create  for  himself,  solitude 
in  that  portion  of  nature  which  .is  left  free  will  become 
more  and  more  necessary  to  those  men  who  wish  to  ob- 
tain renewed  vigor  of  thought  far  from  the  conflict  of 
opinions  and  voices.  If  the  beautiful  spots  of  the  world 
should  one  day  become  a  mere  rendezvous  for  the  worn 
and  weary,  those  who  love  to  live  in  the  open  air  will 
have  nothing  left  for  them  but  to  take  refuge  in  a  bark 
in  the  midst  of  the  waves,  or  to  wait  patiently  for  the 


194  THE  HISTORY  OF  A    MOUNTAIN, 

day  when  they  shall  be  able  to  soar  like  a  bird  into  the 
depths  of  space;  but  they  would  ever  regret  the  fresh 
mountain  valleys  and  the  torrents  bursting  from  un- 
trodden snow,  and  the  white  or  rosy  pyramids  rising  up 
in  the  blue  vaults  of  heaven.  Happily  the  mountains 
will  always  contain  the  sweetest  places  of  retreat  for  him 
who  flies  from  the  beaten  paths  of  fashion.  For  a  long 
time  yet  we  shall  be  able  to  turn  aside  from  the  frivolous 
world  and  find  ourselves  alone  with  our  thoughts  far 
from  that  flow  of  vulgar  and  factious  opinions  which  dis- 
turbs and  distracts  even  the  most  sincere  minds. 

"What  astonishment,  what  a  breaking -off  of  all  my 
habits,  when,  crossing  the  outlet  of  the  last  mountain  de- 
file, I  found  myself  once  more  in  the  vast  plain,  with  its 
indistinct  and  fading  background,  its  boundless  space ! 
The  immense  world  was  opened  out  before  me ;  I  could 
go  to  any  point  of  the  horizon  whither  fancy  led  me. 
And  yet  I  seemed  to  be  walking  in  vain ;  I  could  not 
get  on,  so  completely  had  nature  around  me  lost  its  charm 
and  variety.  No  more  could  I  hear  the  torrent,  no  more 
see  the  snow  or  rocks :  it  was  ever  the  same  monotonous 
landscape.  My  steps  were  free,  and  yet  I  felt  that  my 
imprisonment  was  very  different  from  that  of  the  moun- 
tain. One  single  tree,  a  mere  shrub,  sufficed  to  hide  the 
horizon  from  me ;  not  a  road  which  was  not  bounded  on 
both  sides  by  hedges  or  fences. 

As  I  moved  away  from  the  beloved  mountains  rapidly 
receding  from  me,  I  often  looked  back  to  distinguish 
their  fleeting  forms.  Gradually  the  slopes  became  con- 
fused in  one  uniform  blue  mass,  the  wide  dips  in  the  val- 
leys ceased  to  be  visible,  the  lower  peaks  were  lost  to 
view,  the  contour  of  the  higher  summits  alone  stood  out 


MAN.  195 

against  the  luminous  background.  At  last  the  mist  of 
dust  and  impurities  rising  from  the  plains  hid  the  nether- 
most slopes  of  the  mountains;  nothing  more  remained 
save  a  sort  of  ornamentation  bordering  the  clouds,  and 
my  eyes  could  hardly  recognize  any  of  the  peaks  I  used 
to  climb.  Then  all  the  outlines  disappeared  in  vapor. 
The  plain,  void  of  all  visible  boundaries,  surrounded  me 
on  every  side.  Henceforth  the  mountain  would  be  far 
from  me,  and  I  had  returned  to  the  busy  tumult  of  hu- 
man beings.  My  memory  has  at  least  been  able  to  pre- 
serve the  sweet  impressions  of  the  past.  Once  more  I  see 
rising  up  before  my  eyes  the  beloved  outlines  of  the 
mountains ;  mentally  I  re-enter  the  shady  valleys,  and 
for  some  moments  I  can  enjoy  in  peace  my  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  rocks,  the  insects,  and  the  blades  of 
grass. 


THE    END. 


RECLUS'S  EARTH. 


THE  EAETH.  A  Descriptive  History  of  the  Phe- 
nomena of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  ELISEE  RE- 
CLUS.  Translated  by  the  late  B.  B.  WOODWARD, 
M.A.,  and  Edited  by  HENRY  WOODWARD,  British 
Museum.  With  234  Maps  and  Illustrations,  and 
23  Page  Maps  printed  in  Colors.  8vo,  Cloth, 
$5  00;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

Not  only  the  vast  amount  of  information  concerning  the  phenomena  of 
the  physical  world  that  is  embodied  in  its  contents,  but  the  compactness 
and  lucidity  of  its  method,  and  the  chaste  beauty  of  its  style,  commend  it 
to  the  attention  of  the  intelligent  reader,  and  promise  equal  delight  and 
improvement  from  the  diligent  study  of  its  pages.  The  writer  treats,  in 
the  first  place,  of  the  Earth  as  a  planet,  comparing  its  dimensions  with 
those  of  the  sun  and  fixed  stars,  describing  its  motions  and  the  succession 
of  days  and  seasons,  and  discussing  the  various  theories  of  its  formation, 
and  the  duration  of  geological  periods.  The  distribution  of  land  and  wa- 
ter is  next  considered,  comprising  a  detailed  account  of  continents,  plains, 
deserts,  mountains,  glaciers,  rivers,  islands,  lakes,  and  other  prominent  top- 
ics of  physical  geography,  and  concluding  with  the  explanation  of  the  sub- 
terranean forces  which  produce  volcanoes,  earthquakes,  and  great  terres- 
trial upheavals  and  depressions.  The  chapters  devoted  to  mountains  and 
glaciers  possess  a  fascinating  interest,  both  on  account  of  the  clearness 
of  their  expositions  and  the  picturesque  grace  of  their  natural  sketches. 
The  writer  looks  upon  the  wonders  of  the  physical  world  with  the  eye  and 
the  heart  of  a  genuine  poet. — N.  Y.  Tribune; 

For  more  than  fifteen  years  this  distinguished  French  savant  travelled, 
explored,  and  studied  the  Earth,  and  the  working  of  the  elements  which 
compose  it.  He  has  embodied  the  results  of  this  travel  and  experience  in 
a  volume  which,  while  satisfying  the  questions  of  an  inquiring  mind,  does 
not  tire.  It  is  "  exhaustive  without  being  exhausting." — Boston  Traveller. 

Essentially  popular  in  its  character — that  is,  it  is  readable  with  pleasure 
by  persons  of  ordinary  intelligence,  and  a  genuine  attempt  to  popularize 
sound  knowledge. — Nation,  N.  Y. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

jy  HAEPEB  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  work  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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THE  OCEAN,  ATMOSPHERE,  AND  LIFE.  Be- 
ing the  Second  Series  of  a  Descriptive  History  of 
the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  ELISEE  EECLUS.  Trans- 
lated from  the  French.  Profusely  Illustrated  with 
250  Maps  or  Figures,  and  27  Maps  printed  in  Col- 
ors. 8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $8  25. 

Very  many  works  have  been  written  about  the  sea  in  its  physical  and 
emotional  aspects,  in  its  influence  on  the  life  of  the  planet,  and  its  connec- 
tion with  mental  development,  but  not  one  of  them  all  is  more  remarkable 
than  this,  or  contains  a  greater  amount  of  information  concerning  "  old 
Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

For  thorough  research,  rich  attainments,  and  graphic  style,  M.  Reclus 
holds  high  rank  among  the  scientists  of  the  day.  It  should  be  borne  in 
mind  that  this  work  and  its  predecessor  are  written  not  for  those  already 
thoroughly  versed  in  science,  so  much  as  for  that  much  larger  class  of 
persons  who  seek  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  daily  routine  by  the  acquisi- 
tion of  some  degree  of  knowledge,  and  who  need  books  which,  while  ac- 
curate and  in  some  sense  profound,  shall  be  free  from  technicalities  and 
open  to  general  understanding.  Such  books  M.  Reclus  has  furnished  in 
these  two  volumes,  which,  taken  jointly,  cover  a  wide  range  of  discussion. 
— Boston  Journal. 

It  completes  his  descriptive  history  of  the  life  of  the  globe,  adding  to 
the  comprehensive  description  of  the  solid  foundation,  the  bones,  as  it 
were,  of  the  globe  in  the  first  volume,  a  like  full  statement  of  its  circulat- 
ing and  life-giving  media,  the  blood,  of  this  greatest  of  animals,  as  some 
would  have  it.  The  first  part,  of  two  hundred  pages,  is  a  wonderfully 
thorough  and  philosophical,  while  popular,  study  of  the  ocean,  its  currents, 
tides,  shallows,  and  shores ;  the  second  devotes  as  much  more  space  to  the 
atmosphere  and  meteorology ;  the  third  treats  of  animated  life :  the  flora 
of  the  sea  and  earth,  the  fauna,  "  earth  and  man,"  and  finally  the  work  of 
man  in  his  reaction  on  nature.  The  work  is  wonderfully  comprehensive 
and  informing,  a  very  cyclopaedia  on  its  subject,  interestingly  readable  in 
style,  and  in  every  respect  of  very  great  merit. — N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HAKPEB  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  work  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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FLAMMARION'S  ATMOSPHERE. 


THE  ATMOSPHERE.  Translated  from  the  French 
of  CAMILLE  FLAMMAKION.  Edited  by  JAMES  GLAI- 
SHEK,  F.R.S.,  Superintendent  of  the  Magnetical  and 
Meteorological  Department  of  the  Royal  Observa- 
tory at  Greenwich.  With  10  Chromo-Lithographs, 
and  86  Woodcuts.  8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00;  Half  Calf, 
$8  25. 

The  style  is  very  simple  and  comprehensive ;  there  is  an  entire  absence 
of  puzzling  technicalities,  and  everything  necessary  to  be  told  is  told  in 
such  a  charming  manner  that  even  the  most  indifferent  reader  will  find  his 
interest  excited,  and  his  attention  chained.  We  know  of  no  other  work 
on  a  similar  subject  which  covers  so  wide  a  field.  M.  Flammarion  appar- 
ently entered  upon  his  task  with  an  enthusiasm  which  shows  no  sign  of 
flagging  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  work.  We  do  not  know 
when  we  have  found  instruction  and  amusement  more  pleasingly  combined 
than  they  are  in  this  book,  which  is  destined  to  enjoy  a  popularity  second 
to  none  of  the  many  works  that  have  lately  been  issued  with  the  laudable 
intention  of  popularizing  science. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

This  work  is  very  comprehensive,  treating  of  the  form,  dimensions,  and 
movements  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  influence  exerted  on  meteorology  by 
the  physical  conformation  of  the  globe ;  of  the  figure,  height,  weight,  col- 
or, and  chemical  components  of  the  atmosphere;  of  the  phenomena  of 
light,  heat,  wind,  clouds,  rain,  electricity ;  of  the  laws  of  climate,  and,  in 
short,  of  the  wide  range  of  subjects  included  under  the  general  topic.  It 
is  very  pleasing  in  style,  and  is  profusely  illustrated,  ten  full-page  chromo- 
lithographs picturing  the  more  remarkable  phenomena  mentioned. — Boston 
Post. 

This  is  truly  a  superb  volume,  both  externally  and  internally.  As  a 
piece  of  book-making,  it  marks  the  high  degree  of  perfection  to  which  the 
art  is  carried  in  the  manufactories  of  the  publishers.  The  literary  side  of 
the  work  is  creditable  alike  to  the  French  author  and  the  English  editor, 
who  here  bring  their  several  national  traits  into  a  happily  combined  co- 
operation.— Christian  Advocate,  N.  Y. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

ARPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  work  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


